《A Tale of Two Simulations》 Prologue Standing on the crowded Brooklyn Bridge, Alastair Creighton watched the tiny bursts of color in the distance, unable to contain his thoughts, ¡°It sure does pretend at beauty. Very convincing.¡± Some of the revelers, impatient for the main show, had already begun launching their less-than-sanctioned fireworks from various rooftop terraces. ¡°Ten!¡± came the shout of a lone voice somewhere in the crowd. Alastair checked his watch. This year there was to be a dazzling display launched from the Hudson River side of Manhattan at precisely 9:25 PM. This was the moment; his moment. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Eight!¡­Seven!¡­¡± the now growing chorus continued. Alastair questioned himself again. Was this decision truly his to make? Was he even capable of making decisions? ¡°Six!¡­Five!¡­¡± He thought back on the wasted years, spinning his wheels for a foolish game. A game! ¡°Four!¡± Steeling his resolve, Alastair climbed up on one of the steel girders supporting the bridge. Others were doing the same for a better view; no one paid him any attention. ¡°Three!¡± Shouting into the night in this world that pretended to be, he took one final step. ¡°To the end of all things!¡± Chapter One ¡°Hey Gus.¡± My dad was the only person I knew who just called on the phone. ¡°We need to talk.¡± I sighed. ¡°Is this another intervention?¡± It¡¯s too early for this. I earned more than any of my friends, but my folks were still embarrassed of me. ¡°No, this isn¡¯t about those games. Are you sitting down?¡± I sat up in bed. ¡°Yeah, why?¡± ¡°Your uncle Al, he passed away,¡± he said, leaving his words hanging between us. I let them linger too. ¡°How?¡± I finally asked. ¡°He was¡­ seventy-six years old¡­ and the university forced him into retirement last year,¡± he attempted to explain. ¡°And?¡± ¡°And, he decided to take his own life. He jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge.¡± That¡¯s not what happened. ¡°Uncle Al works from home. He has everything he needs in his basement. He only ever cared about unlocking the secrets of the universe. He could care less about the university.¡± ¡°It is what it is.¡± Dad and Al were never close, but how could he just believe the worst of him? ¡°This is kind of a crazy time at the firm. Do you think you¡¯re up for putting his affairs in order? Everyone else has a job¡­¡± ¡°Yeah, Dad.¡± Arriving at Uncle Al¡¯s house, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. He lived here my entire life, but this was my first time visiting alone. My folks always thought I''d get caught up in a blackhole or something from one of his experiments. As I entered the house, I headed straight to the basement where he spent most of his waking hours. Uncle Alastair was always a bit of a mad scientist. He focused on his search for answers the way I focused on a new game. We were both single minded like that. I guess that''s why we always got along. I took in the lab noticing used dishes stacked haphazardly on my uncle''s desk along with half-empty coffee cups next to his computer. Papers were strewn about, some with notes scrawled in distinctive handwriting, while others featured intricate diagrams and schematics. The lingering scent of chemicals and burnt metal still hung thick in the air, a reminder of the countless experiments conducted here. His cluttered workbench was at the center full of tools and gadgets. Some of which I recognize and others completely foreign to me; cold irons, oscilloscopes, and who knows what else. A big red button stood out. It was probably an emergency cutoff of some kind. I took a closer look and noticed that some of the machinery still had wires and circuit boards attached, suggesting that my uncle was in the middle of a project when he passed away. My eyes kept coming back to a large button, bright and red, screaming to be pressed. The plastic lid that covered it, with a keyhole set in the side, only made me want to press it more. Despite the growing temptation, I reminded myself that I was here to put my uncle''s things in order, not play with his experiments. I seated myself at my uncle¡¯s computer where the screen flickered on and a blinking cursor waited for a password. He knows anyone serious about gaining access is going to get in. It¡¯ll be something simple to keep out the causal busybody. After entering his home address, a low ¡®beep, beep¡¯ informed me that my guess was incorrect. I checked under his keyboard. No password, but there was a small key. My gaze shifted back to the big red button again. Focus! My eyes then landed on the title of the only book on his desk, one he had authored as a requirement for a university grant. ¡®Beep, beep.¡¯ This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. That¡¯s not it. What did he have in his chat signature... Something in Latin. I typed ¡®Memento Mori.¡¯ Success! I was greeted by an open file called ¡®Journal,¡¯ followed by the current year. It was located inside a folder named for the decade. This is going to take a while. I stood up and stretched, my eyes once again drawn to the big red button, then back to the key on the table. I deserve a break before delving in. I gave the key a twist, patting myself on the back for waiting as long as I did. It was then I realized the base holding the button didn''t actually connect to any of the lab equipment, or anything at all. I shrugged, and pressed it anyway.
¡ª Day Zero ¡ª
The moment the button was pressed I found myself standing in a sunny meadow. Such a sudden change, with no transition at all, was jarring to say the least. It felt like I had lost time or something. I looked down to see my dingdong, and the reflection of said dingdon in a thigh deep in a reflective pond. Everything I could see painted a beautiful scene, with wildflowers circling the small pond, and lush forest bordering the meadow, but something wasn''t quite right. Everything was a little too¡­ anime. It was almost like the world had just a touch of cel shading. Or something, I don¡¯t know. I bent a little at the waist. What the hell? My reflection belonged back in highschool. Or maybe like a highschool anime or something. I could be the ¡®nice guy¡¯ from one of those slice-of-life''s who mysteriously gets the hot girl. I was definitely still me though. As I stood there, trying to make sense of what was happening, I heard a low growl. I looked around in panic. Nothing there. I scanned the tree line, every shadow now suspicious. There¡¯s nothing there. A second growl caused me to spin around, almost tripping as stones shifted on the pond''s rocky bottom. The yellow eyes of a wolf were locked on me. A third growl came from the same direction as the first. I can¡¯t let them surround me! I turned and ran on instinct, my bare feet padding against the soft grass as soon as I had bounded out of the water. As I ran into the woods, soft grass was replaced by something sharp, but I couldn¡¯t stop if I wanted to. Some ancestral memory said ¡®run,¡¯ and wouldn¡¯t take ¡®no¡¯ for an answer. I never saw the cliff''s edge. One moment I was running, the next I was flying through the air. But I didn¡¯t fall far before I was clawing at a tall tree for dear life, now swaying dangerously from my own momentum. I had a brief moment of hope that the tree would support me before a loud crack tore that hope away. The whole tree slowly started to bend and break over the course of a few seconds that felt like an eternity. I¡¯m not sure how far I fell, or how long it took me to regain my senses. When I did, I saw a skeleton lying there; the remains of someone who had met a similar fate. I looked up at the broken tree. That could have been me. I could see that I was bleeding; that was no surprise. I also saw the word ¡®bleeding¡¯ above a health meter in the lower right corner of my vision, and that did surprise me. The meter was red, and low, and slowly getting lower. Did I hit my head and start hallucinating? Should I be taking this seriously? I crawled over to the skeleton to see if I could use some strips of its tattered clothing to stop the bleeding. Every inch closer was more painful than the last. I finally made it only to feel the cloth was like tissue paper; completely useless. I did find a belt in pretty good condition with a pretty big knife holstered in it. I grabbed that, and the backpack. I tried to take it off the dead man respectfully, but I was still alive, and he wasn¡¯t. It could have a first aid kit or something. The whole skeleton ended up coming apart from my effort. ¡°Sorry,¡± I told him with a wince. When I tried to open the bag, instead of opening, I was met with¡­ an inventory screen? Like a video game? This didn¡¯t feel like a video game, the pain was very real, but¡­ The center slot was labeled ¡®Bandage x3.¡¯ I tried to select it or something, and instead I was touching the rolled up bandage. I took it out and was met with a popup dialogue box: [Use Bandage?] Yes/No Yes The bandage disappeared from my hand with a sound like a tape dispenser. I looked down to find I already had the bandages on me, and the word bleeding had disappeared from my lifebar. The bar stopped inching its way down. Another item slot hovering before me had a bottle of red liquid labeled ¡®Minor Potion of Healing¡¯. I reached for it, and took that one too. In video games potions were like the size of your head, but this one was like an ounce or two. I took a quick glance at my health bar, flicked off the cork, and dowed it in one gulp. My health bar immediately started going up, and I could feel it. Chapter Two Okay¡­ What is happening?! Uncle Al had a button. I pushed the button. Now I¡¯m what? Inside of a video game? No way Al was working on a video game. He studied quantum physics. Maybe I triggered some kind of chemical spill, and this is some kind of hallucination? Yeah, that at least makes some sense. After spending an hour naked and scratching my head, I realized that I can¡¯t control the world, only my decisions in it. And I wasn¡¯t about to get eaten by wolves; real, digital, or hallucinatory. I took one last look at the skeleton, and this time saw a prompt:
Loot Unknown Elf? Yes/No
I¡¯m pretty sure I took any loot already. No Why didn¡¯t it give me the option the first time, when it wasn¡¯t empty? Usually in games looting a body lets you move items from the body to your inventory. But, I don¡¯t have an inventory, right? I guess this backpack is my inventory now. The bag also contained Warn Common Clothes, so I put them on. They came out neatly folded, and as I started to unfold them I got another prompt:
[Put on Worn Common Clothes?] Yes/No
Yes My hands started moving on autopilot, and the next thing I knew I was dressed. I could have sworn I skipped some steps. I shrugged. It wasn¡¯t the weirdest thing that happened to me today. With the inventory still up, I spotted a second potion just like the first, and checked my health again. The healing potion had returned about half of my health over about a minute. That put me at about 60%. And an hour of resting returned another 20% or so, but seemed to have stopped. I decided not to spend the last health potion. I put on the belt with the sheath, which definitely held a dagger, not a knife, and made my way through the forest. It was pretty shiny for a dagger, like brand new, and had an intricate pattern etched into it. I was relieved when the forest gave way to an open field. There was even a path. My bare feet were glad to feel the hard packed dirt. With no sign of which direction was more likely to have civilization, I pulled out one of the coins from the backpack and flipped it. Strangely, the side it landed on was blank, and so was the other side. It was completely smooth on all sides. Something else only a gamer would pick up on; the copper coin was shiny, but not reflective. Reflections can really take up a lot of processing power. That, and the slightly smoother but bolder edges everything had were clearly design elements meant to reduce strain on the system. Still the most amazing looking game I¡¯ve ever seen. Or the fever dream of a gamer? I resorted to picking a direction on my volition. In addition to the gear I was wearing, my bag contained twenty-four copper coins, which were pretty big for coins, and four silver coins of the exact same size. It also had the empty bottle from the potion I drank, two more empties, the full one, and a Minor Potion of Stamina Recovery. That last one was green. Oh, and a lot of food labeled ¡®spoiled.¡¯
[Discard Spoiled Rations x 8?] Yes/No
Yes With my shiny new dagger on my hip, and walking a clearly well used road, I felt a lot more confident. My gamer instincts told me to lower the threat level, even though I wasn¡¯t at full health. I assumed a good night''s sleep would fix that, but who knows. My folks seemed to think I needed constant reminders that life was not a video game. Where were they now that I actually needed the reminder? I have no idea of the nature of this game. Will it try to kill me? Seems like it already has. And what happens when someone dies here? I felt like the answers to my questions might be in a status screen, but I couldn¡¯t seem to activate one. ¡°Help? System? Character sheet?¡± If I thought about my health, the health bar got a little bigger. Somehow, it was in my field of vision, but not obscuring my vision in any way. Same if I tugged at the flap of my bag. I could see its inventory filling my field of vision, but I could still see what it should be obscuring. I tried thinking about a personal inventory, or my stats, but nothing happened. As the beautiful day turned to dusk, I realized I had no idea how safe this road would be after night fell. Less. My gamer instincts told me not to find out. I started to jog, and saw a stamina meter. I think I saw that earlier, but was too busy running for my life. Now the meter was going down quite fast. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Low stamina was normal when starting a game. Not to mention real life, I thought embarrassingly. But I noticed a signpost up ahead, so that was a problem for another day. Before I was close enough to read it I was already entering the outskirts of a small town as the last rays of sunlight were fading into the horizon, casting a warm orange glow over the quaint streets that shifted from hard packed dirt to cobblestone the farther I got. The air was filled with the sweet aroma of wood smoke and the distant clang of metal on metal. A person, a tall and lanky man with a thick beard and weathered face, called out to me, ¡°Stay off the roads at night, Stranger.¡± Is that a threat? No, his smile told me he was offering friendly advice, so I waved and gave him a friendly smile back. I couldn¡¯t help but feel a sense of deja vu. I¡¯d clearly never actually been to this town, or anywhere like it. But it would be right at home in an Elder Scroll or a Zelda with its rough-hewn architecture and rugged homeyness. As I walked deeper into the town, I noticed a short and rotund figure with a bald head and rosy cheeks, just finishing lighting magical lanterns that hung from the eaves of the buildings. His clothes looked a little too white and elegant for a small town like this, and he had a gold mask hanging from his belt. He bowed his head, as though in prayer, and another lantern flickered to life, illuminating the street in a warm and inviting glow. I couldn¡¯t help but stare. The animals that roamed around the town weren¡¯t exactly like real life animals, but they were all close. Most looked like chickens, only a little bigger and a lot more curious: dangerous maybe, in the right conditions. There were a few shops too; all closed for the night. I wondered if I could afford shoes when they reopened. As I passed by the closed stores I spotted the blacksmith working in the light given off by her forge. This was the source of the clanking, and some of the more interesting smells. I could practically taste burnt metal on my tongue. She had a determined look on her face, her muscles bulging as she worked the forge. She was covered in soot and sweat, but there was a sense of pride and satisfaction in her eyes as she worked on whatever it was. I¡¯d never seen an NPC with that kind of light in her eyes. Sensing my eyes on her, she looked up to meet them, without missing a rhythmic beat with her hammer. I looked away in embarrassment, and spotted the inn. This was my destination all along, right? And there had to be one. No matter how small the town, it must have an inn, because players like me need inns. But these look like people to me, not NPC¡¯s. Before entering, I was already greeted by the warm glow of a fire and the smell of delicious food. I tried to quiet my annoying brain, and pushed open the door. I stepped into the well lit tavern, my bare feet padding against the wooden floorboards. Is this a no shoes, no shirt, no service kinda situation? I spotted a pair of big dirty feet under a nearby table and shrugged. The air was thick with hops and roast¡­ something. The other patrons barely spared me a glance as I made my way to the bar. A man in the corner played a lyre, his fingers barely grazing the strings, the sound discordant and off-key. That was probably why he was only using it to punctuate his storytelling. Which was probably also bad, judging by the way the patrons paid him little attention, talking over him as they drank from tall wooden mugs. Approaching the bar, I was taken aback by the hulk of a man tending it. His skin was rough and leathery, and two sharp looking tusks protruded from his lower jaw. He noticed my attention and a scowl crossed his face. He leaned in with a murderous look, pausing to make sure I got the message, then laughed, a deep rumbling sound. ¡°Adventurers are always welcome in the Wandering Stag. The name¡¯s Gorg. What¡¯ll it be, traveler?¡± ¡°Oh. Right. What do you¡­ recommend?¡± Instead of answering, he poured me a drink in a wooden mug that looked like everyone else¡¯s; mead, I guess. I¡¯d never had it before, but it tasted mostly like the swill you find in red solo cups at every party I¡¯d been dragged to. Not that that was my biggest concern right now. Whatever I had smelled cooking was an animal, but he sold me bread and cheese. I spent a little longer taking in the other patrons, noting their rough and battle-worn appearances. They were a motley crew of what looked like warriors, hunters, traders, but mostly townsfolk. Some were deep in conversation, their voices raised in laughter or argument. Others sat alone, nursing their mugs lost in thought. As I ate, my health meter inched up. Good to know that¡¯s an option for recovering health. I cleared my throat, ¡°Do you get people coming through here who¡­ don¡¯t understand local customs?¡± ¡°Like, Elves?¡± he asked, ¡°Yeah, but they¡¯re harmless. They order the bread too. They like real thick bread.¡± I had no idea how else to ask about other player characters. So I gave up. ¡°Ah, thanks. How much for a room for the night?¡± The drink, bread, and cheese were each a copper coin, and the room was five. The ¡®good rooms¡¯ would be a silver, but they were all taken. Not that I have it to spare anyways. I put down a silver clinking against the rough-hewn wooden counter, which reminded me of the blankness of the coins. He gave me back two copper and pointed to a wooden door off the main hall. ¡°Who is in charge of this area? Like, the ruler?¡± ¡°Edion¡¯s the mayor. You¡¯ll find him light¡¯n¡¯ the lamps ¡®bout now.¡± ¡°I mean, like a king or something.¡± ¡°We¡¯re close nuf to the spire that everyone just follows Lady Cerafina.¡± He pointed to a large painting of a knight over the doorway. The figure wore golden armor, with long red hair waving horizontally in the breeze like a flag. She didn¡¯t look like a ruler, she looked like a paladin. ¡°And no one decided to print her face or seal or something on the coins?¡± He looked at me like I was an alien. Oops. ¡°If someone starts messin¡¯ with the natural shape of coins people are gonna start to wonder if they¡¯re real.¡± I nodded sagely like I got it. Natural shape of coins? Just one more mystery, and I don¡¯t want to show all of my ignorance yet. Exhausted, I thanked the bartender, and wished him good night, before I made my way to the door indicated. Chapter Three To my surprise, it was not the door to a hallway. It was the door to my room, with no lock or latch, so any drunken reveler could stumble in. Or an assassin. But my gamer instincts told me an inn in a video came was the safest place in the world. It had a small table, a hay bed with a sheet on it, and nothing else. I focused on the bed, hoping it would ask me how long I wanted to sleep. Nothing. Am I going to actually need to sleep on this thing? A single worn book with symbols I didn¡¯t recognize sat on the table. It could be a language. And I¡¯d had enough for today, so I layed down on my less-than-comfortable bed, and was immediately greeted with a prompt:
[Sleep?] Yes/No
Great! I figured out how to sleep. But it isn¡¯t asking me for how long¡­ Yes And there I was, one finger pressing down on the big red button back in my uncle''s laboratory. Nothing indicated I was going back, or how I got back. Or that I had left at all, for that matter. Have I been standing here pressing a button for eight hours? Maybe the game autosaves and exits on sleep? Save on sleep is not unusual for a game on survival difficulty. And it was a game, right? My fear of waking up drooling on the basement floor, having been exposed to some psychedelic chemical, didn¡¯t come true. I carefully lowered the plastic protector until it gave a satisfying click as it latched, and put the key in my pocket. I picked up the small pedestal that held the button and its lid to confirm that it wasn¡¯t actually attached to anything. It had only held firmly in place by rubber grommets and its own weight. It was a bit heavy for its size. Flipping it over, there was a panel held on by four phillips screws. I grabbed a screwdriver off my uncle¡¯s workbench. Inside was a Raspberry Pi, and a couple of cell phone batteries. I put it back together, and carefully set it back where I found it. I need to get some perspective. I walked upstairs, and directly out the side door. The sun was shining, and some kid was riding up and down the block on a bicycle with training wheels. Across the street a man was failing to get a lawn mower started, but the smell of cut grass and the sound of a mower told me someone else nearby was having a better time of it. It sure looked like a normal Saturday morning. It was a little after 10 AM, according to my cell. Wasn¡¯t that about the time I pressed the button? I thought about messaging a gamer friend, but I really needed to confirm my sanity before involving anyone else. I headed back to the basement to check my uncle¡¯s journal to try to make sense of this. What was his password? Memento¡­? But I didn¡¯t need to unlock it. It was still unlocked. I checked the screen saver, and it was set to lock after ten minutes. Everything I went through happened in less than ten minutes? I sure hope Uncle Al has some answers, because I¡¯m fresh out. I went back a year, and found exactly the kind notes I¡¯d expect to find in a work journal of a quantum physicist. Most of it made as much sense as ancient Greek. I started flipping ahead hoping to find something a little clearer. Finally about three months ago there was a dramatic change in the types of entries:
There are aspects of quantum physics that seem to defy conventional wisdom, but I cannot bring myself to believe this particular aspect...
His use of first person is what had jumped out at me. The next entry went back to crazy physics talk for a month or so before:
The more I study the phenomenon, the more I am convinced. This just does not make sense as a part of nature. It is like someone forgot to finish this part or reality. Almost like a glitch in the matrix. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
A glitch in the matrix? I¡¯ve never once heard Uncle Al make a pop culture reference, and his work notes seem like a weird place to start. Was he talking about simulation theory? I started skimming:
A glitch in the matrix. I can¡¯t get it out of my head. It haunts me when I close my eyes at night. Is this really the only explanation?
And later the same day:
It¡¯s true. I stayed up for three days, and now have a working demonstration. I have exploited the nature of the quantum phenomenon, my glitch in the matrix, and gained access to some sort of computer that is simulating reality. Life itself is all some kind of joke; some kind of game. I cannot think anymore. I need sleep.
He can''t be serious. I looked over at the button again. Actually, I guess I¡¯m ready to believe just about anything at this point. Was this why he¡­ why he jumped?
I just left my bed for the first time in two days. I spent those days staring at the ceiling, imagining shapes in the stucco. Deciding if I want to end this joke of an existence for myself, or to share that gift with the rest of the¡­ simulants. Will it be as easy as flipping a switch?
Destroy¡­ the world? I¡¯m as shocked as he was, but¡­ woah. Does it really matter if the world is ones and zeros instead of quarks and neutrons?
I have reached my limit with this interface. I determined that I can see a bit of information about the computer running our simulation, but my options to change anything are almost zero. Almost zero, but not quite zero. There are only two programs. One that is running, and a second that is not. The one running must be our simulation. The program not running has the same name, but a smaller number at the end. An earlier version of the same program, perhaps. When I attempt to start this other program, I am met with a warning. I don¡¯t understand the language, but can see the warning uses the same word that denotes processing power in two other places. I am confident the message is warning me that if I start this program without stopping ours first, the computer will crash due to overloading the processor. The processor is already near maximum capacity, that I know.
A momentary bolt of fear ran through me. If any mad scientist could destroy the world, it was Al. But he¡®s dead, and the world is not. And¡­ is this other program the other world? The one that I just experienced? I was worried I had too many questions to be answered by the final two entries.
It is done. I made a small device with parts from the surplus store, with a big red button for drama. When pressed it will activate this other program, and continue past the warning prompt, thereby crashing our pretend existence. I have been staring at it for an hour. Do I press it? Seems like it needs more flair or something. Someone let me spend sixty-seven years believing that I was peeling away at the mysteries of reality when I was merely a rodent scratching at the walls of my cage. I want to go out with a bang.
Uncle Al made a doomsday button, and I wandered in and pressed it like a goob. I spent a moment taking that in. At least it didn¡¯t work. Right? Right, Al¡¯s guess was wrong. It did start the other world, but it didn¡¯t crash all of reality. I guess the warning he saw really meant something like, ¡®if you start this other program, it will pause your current program, because the system has only enough processing power for one?¡¯ Does this mean Uncle Al decided to kill himself, and spare the rest of humanity. I want to believe he¡¯s a good man. There was only one entry left:
I made a second device; this one out of a $10,000 smart watch. It¡¯s a mechanical looking thing with a button on the side that makes a satisfying click. It no longer does 99% of the things the watch used to do, but it still tells time, and it does end the world with a satisfying click. Tomorrow I will go watch the fireworks, then make some of my own. I just stared at the page of text, not knowing what to think. When the screen timed out, it brought me back to reality. He created a second device intending to destroy the world with it. Did he press the button while falling, experience a day in the other world, then go to sleep in that world, only to find himself falling to his death in this world?
Maybe experiencing a whole new life made him regret that decision. Or maybe he never brought himself to press it. I¡¯d like to believe that. I¡¯d like to believe in him. He was the only person who believed in me. No one else in my family ever respected me as a professional gamer. Al considered any game a waste of time, and he told me so. Then followed that up with, ¡°But they¡¯re important to you. I can see the fire in your eyes when you talk about them. ¡°The rest of the world is going through the motions. They will never understand the fire that burns within us. Never let someone else put that fire out.¡± In the end, I¡¯ll never know what was going through his head. So, I choose to believe the best of him. He was a cold man, dedicated like no one else. I saw a lot of him in me. He saw a lot of me in him. And that''s how I¡¯ll remember him. Chapter Four I went into the rest of the house for the first time since arriving, determined to actually do the thing I came here for. The rest of the place looked like an AirBNB waiting for a guest to arrive. Did he actually live here? Except for a basket full of mail in front of the mail slot, and I guess I could take the trash out. I sat down at the kitchen table, and started sorting through the mail. ¡°Ay¡­hola,¡± came a voice from the door. A heavyset woman in her forties or fifties was pulling a key attached to a giant keyring out of the door, surprised to find it was unlocked I guess. ¡°Lo siento. Me llamo Lucina¡­¡± I cut her off with an apologetic wince and hand gesture, then pulled up a translator app. I took nine years of Spanish between grade school and high school, but couldn¡¯t string two words together. To be fair, most of my Spanish teachers didn¡¯t speak Spanish either. Turned out Lucina came every other Saturday to clean. She looked sad to hear Al passed when I told her, which made me like her already. She showed me the mail he had instructed her to set aside for him, and a box in the closet with bundles of unopened mail that he hadn¡¯t found important. I had her clean, one last time, even though it didn¡¯t look like it needed it. I settled up with her financially while she was still getting started, and took her phone number. She looked a little guilty when she told me how much she was owed, I guess because Uncle Al paid her too much? This tiny unlived house certainly isn¡¯t a full day''s work. Good for her. Sorry to see her lose a customer. Once that was taken care of, I let her get back to her last day of cleaning. She said she would leave the keys, and show herself out when she was done. Of the important mail, there was a letter from Uncle Al¡¯s retirement, and one from a lawyer. It looked like the lawyer managed all of his financial affairs. This should make things easy. Maybe he even has a will. I called, and left a voicemail. The cleaner was cleaning, and I certainly didn¡¯t want to spin my wheels doing anything an actual lawyer had already done. I texted Dad about the lawyer, and that I¡¯d try to see him on Monday. Also that I was making sure the house was clean, without mentioning who was really doing the cleaning. I cleverly decided not to mention Uncle Al¡¯s doomsday device. I looked at the big red button, and shuddered at the idea of telling him any of this. When did I decide to go back to the basement? I tried to resist, I really did. I found myself on an uncomfortable hay mattress. Why twist my guts into pretzels? It wasn¡¯t like I could leave the perfect game unplayed; another universe unexplored. Maybe I can discover something, and make the world a better place, or something. But what if there¡¯s some way I could destroy our world? It didn¡¯t seem to work that way, but even if there¡¯s a 1% chance, isn¡¯t this the most insane thing I¡¯ve ever done? Or if its mere existence exposes the fact that our world is digital. I didn''t care about that, but some people sure would¡­ Uncle Al sure did. Thankfully a grumble coming from my stomach derailed my existential spiral. ¡°Good morning¡­Uh. Good morning,¡± I started again, realizing too late that I didn¡¯t remember the bartender¡¯s name. The bartender stopped what he was doing, and gave me a smile, ¡°The name¡¯s Gorg. It¡¯s okay to ask, ya know. I¡¯m the only half orc in a hundred miles. These are my conversation starters,¡± he laughed, pointing to his tusks. I laughed too, but more out of crippling social anxiety than his jokes. Fortunately he just assumed I had stumbled over my words because I was a racist instead of the terrible name-forgetter that I really was. I was glad he was so easygoing. Kind of hard to hear though. His words were loud and clear, but the timbre was so low. ¡°Nice to meet you too. I¡¯m Gus,¡± I said, trying to quiet my annoying brain. I gave him my real name out of habit. Shoot! Should I have used my gamer tag? No, that would sound silly in this fantasy environment. Gus it is. ¡°Huh. Never met a human named Gus before. Sounds more like an Orc name.¡± ¡°It¡¯s short for Angus, but don¡¯t tell anyone. I¡¯m way too scrawny to pull off Angus.¡± ¡°Naw, that¡¯s just ¡¯cause you¡¯re¡­,¡± he paused. His mouth started to gape. ¡°How¡¯d ya make it to fifteen, and still be at level zero? You gotta be using some kind of [Bard] magic, to obscure yer levels.¡± This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. I completely forgot I was younger here, but it looks like I have bigger problems. Did he do some kind of identification spell on me? He knows I¡¯m different. Will they burn me as a witch? What happens if I die here? He was still staring, expecting an answer. Say something! ¡°Um¡­¡± Something else! ¡°Remember yesterday when I asked if you ever see people who are not aware of the local customs?¡± That was good. Play it cool. He nodded, still holding the mug he had been cleaning; holding it, but not cleaning it. ¡°Well¡­,¡± I continued, ¡°I¡¯m not from around here. I¡¯m from another place¡­ entirely.¡± He leaned over, bending down so our eyes were at the same level. After a long awkward moment, he poked me with two fingers. I managed to stay on my feet, barely, and looked like an idiot for the effort. He laughed again, ¡°Whatever ya are, at least I know what yer not. Well, this is really none of my business, but it is the mayor¡¯s. Ya need to talk to him.¡± I nodded and started for the door. ¡°After breakfast,¡± he said, like I was an idiot for forgetting the most important meal of the day. Breakfast was the most delicious oatmeal I¡¯d ever tasted, after I explained to Gorg that I don¡¯t eat animals. He gave me a strange look, but didn¡¯t argue. Over breakfast he explained that in this world everyone can earn a maximum of 100 levels, and that each level was earned in one of ten classes. The first level in any class was the easiest, taking minutes, and the last was the hardest, taking years. That was why no one made it to my age without any levels. Kids earned a few levels in this and that just by playing with each other. ¡°So, that means no one has ever made it to level 100 in any specific class?¡± ¡°Right.¡± ¡°What would happen?¡± ¡°It¡¯s never happened, far¡¯s I know,¡± he said, furrowing his brow. ¡°Something good though. Ya get special stuff for big round numbers.¡± My gamer sense was starting to tingle. Is my lack of a childhood in this world a unique advantage? I had a million more questions, but we were interrupted by the sort lamplighter I saw on my way into town. ¡°I hope this is important. If my wife sees me in here she¡¯ll think I¡¯m having a drink during the workday. Or worse¡­ second breakfast. Either way, I¡¯ll never hear the end of it.¡± ¡°This is Gus, a traveler from another plane,¡± Gorg informed him. ¡°Now I¡¯ve done my part. If you let him conquer all a the mortal planes, it¡¯s on you. Gus, this is Edion, the mayor.¡± The mayor looked at me, back to Gorg, then back at me again. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t conquer someone else¡¯s plane, would you now?¡± he asked, with a twinkle in his eye. Gorg didn¡¯t look up from his work behind the bar, but he did raise an eyebrow. ¡°Give him a Scry.¡± Edion¡¯s eyes got a little bigger. Is Scry some really common spell? If they could see my level, they knew more about me than I did. ¡°No sir, I do find myself here from another plane, but I have no intention of harming anyone.¡± The formerly jolly man smiled again, but it no longer reached his eyes. ¡°Come with me, my boy. We¡¯ll get this all sorted out.¡± I paid for breakfast, and let him escort me to the only three-story building in town. The first story was mostly open except for rough cut benches, with the emptiness stretching upward. Most of the center of the building was open all the way to the sky. The openings on the second and third floors were ringed by a simple railing. Climbing the stairs, he led me past a scattering of desks on the second floor before finally reaching the third. The outer walls of the third floor were lined with bookshelves, and had additional rows of freestanding bookshelves at regular intervals. This was a surprisingly big library for a small fantasy town. There were a couple of the rough cut benches near the railing that overlooked the lower levels. Which made sense, as that was the most well lit place to read, this floor having no windows on its exterior. ¡°Amaya,¡± the mayor called. ¡°Amaya, dear,¡± he called again, when he didn¡¯t get a response. A small woman, almost a girl, came out from behind a bookshelf, sounding a little placating. ¡°Yes, Mister Mayor? How can I help you?¡± It was hard not to focus on the girl¡¯s cat ears. Or, woman? She wore an expensive-looking velvet suit, minus the jacket, accented by a lace cravat and matching cuffs. Her asian features contrasted with white hair that seamlessly blended into those nekomimi ears standing alert to either side. Like the mayor, she had a mask on her hip, her¡¯s made of porcelain. Notably, she was the first person I¡¯d encountered in this world wearing glasses. ¡°This won¡¯t be like the last time, dear,¡± he said with a smile, gesturing to the sconces filled with candles around the room. Dozens ignited simultaneously, and began to glow with a flame that was a little too white. ¡°Gus here is a visitor from another plane.¡± She absentmindedly closed the book she had been reading and looked up at me for the first time, appraising me for several moments. Her eyes kept returning to my bare feet making me feel a little embarrassed. ¡°Surely this is the reason Caelum sent us a Pioneer in this hour,¡± he continued. ¡°The Guild sent you a Guild Pioneer,¡± she interrupted, eyes still on me. She gave Edion an apologetic smile before turning her gaze back to me. ¡°What plane do you hail from?¡± she asked, interrupting my growing concerns of burning to death in a windowless library full of candles and only one exit. I¡¯m totally getting cute anime girl vibes.