Color blurred in. Reality hit like a brick wall. Solid things pressed against me: other bodies, the ground, and even the air felt thick and real. How long had I been without it for this to feel strange?

  I stumbled away from the person beside me and into a faun. People thronged around me, and most didn’t look human. I backed up into something solid and furry. Spinning around, I faced a minotaur looming over me.

  “Sorry…” I muttered, then snapped my teeth shut. I had to get into character, which didn’t mean apologizing to everyone I bumped into, even the massive ones. A sea of translucent names floated overhead. Overlapped, impossible to read.

  My HUD moved with me wherever I turned, making me feel boxed in. My breath tightened in my chest.

  Caught in the press, I couldn’t even operate my aspect screen, so I did what I could to wiggle through centaurs and elves. A demon’s wing smacked me in the face, warm and freakishly soft, like a skin blanket. I threw my arms up over my head and shoved through, trying to find the end of the crowd. It felt like a packed concert, if music meant shouting.

  People screamed for Archive, crying, pleading, and begging. Laughter and panic bled into the noise in a cacophony of chaos. Overcrowded starting areas sucked. I just needed to get out, get some perspective, and think.

  As I elbowed toward the dispersion where the crowd thinned and people were moving away, I ended up bumping into a human girl, kind of hard. She pushed me back and shouted, “Get ganked!”

  I made my best attempt at an orcish growl, curled my upper lip, and kept moving. Once I was clear of the crush of bodies, I took in where we were. The Colosseum? A structure like the Colosseum rose around us. Massive arches framed a strange, purplish sky, stars shimmering above—huge, bright, unfamiliar. Three moons hung in the air. One looked like the pale, cratered moon I admired back home. One was much larger, orange streaked with glowing red cracks, and one hung near, smaller and bright blue.

  Beyond the Colosseum, a mountain of a termite mound loomed, riddled with holes. Odd funnels rose from its peaks, twisting toward the sky. Around its base, unfamiliar buildings crouched, like none I’d ever seen before.

  I picked up my pace, falling in with people who had given up calling for Archive and were headed for what it had called Convergent City. I contemplated calling out to it but decided to wait—maybe when I wasn’t drowning in noise. I doubted it would answer.

  Before stepping out of the closest archway, I veered away from the lines of players exiting the Colosseum. I wasn't the only one. Many of the hundreds had stepped aside, hands waving in the air as they operated screens I couldn't see. Bringing up my own aspect screen, I explored the features. I skimmed the tutorials about the city, my race type, and class. I arranged my HUD with important stuff: HP, XP, inventory [none], equipped weapons, armor, and accessories [none], and most importantly, the map.

  With the navigation system figured out, I glanced at the arch again. Starter zones always had beginner quests, so I searched the aspect screen and toggled on objectives.

  “Ha,” I said to myself, because I do that sometimes.

  The map lit up with a few different markers. The aspect screen had helpful hints highlighted, with notes. The top task read: Go to Bauring Dath to trade work for lodging. I selected that option and went out through the arch.

  In front of me, across the street from the starting DZ, a line of buildings stood, seemingly made of mud and thatch. I glanced back at the Colosseum, which had an ancient Roman design, then back to the primitive huts. Beyond them? A street that looked like a preserved historic district in Japan, like photos I’d seen of Higashiyama in Kyoto. A Roman Colosseum. Mud huts. A slice of historic Japan?

  What?

  Who designed this game?

  I shook my head, surprised by the heavy brush of braids against my shoulders. It would take a minute to get used to this body.

  Halting suddenly, I turned away from the busy street to adjust my brand-new junk. For the first time, I understood why men did it.

  It didn’t matter how this city looked or who made it. I wouldn’t let this overwhelming newness—or the perceived inability to escape it—get to me. To keep myself sane, I needed to focus on the end game: beating the Gateway level and going home.

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  I followed the map, staying aware of the streets as I turned. I came upon a grouping of houses that looked straight out of a picture book about medieval Swiss towns, with a cobbled street, a fountain, and tall buildings butting against each other like fortress walls.

  The sky shifted from violet to periwinkle. A bluish-white glow appeared at the edge of the city. I stopped to watch, squinting as a little star rose, washing the land with light. Our sun was bigger, yellower, I’d describe it as friendlier, but that could’ve been a reflection of my apprehension. My skin warmed appreciatively when the first rays touched me.

  Shaking off the confusing mix of unease and relief at the sight of this reality's sun, I kept walking. The next street turned to muddy ruts lined with yurts made of animal skin and felt. A building of large, sturdy wood slats stood in the center of the mud field that was the street. Its sign hung down low. I read it, though I didn’t recognize the individual slashing letters. Bauring Dath.

  As I approached, the doorway shimmered. The System was pretty accommodating. It led me right to the door and practically opened it for me.

  I grabbed the latch. When I went inside, I hit the doorframe with my shoulder and watched my HP score drop by one.

  That was some bullshit right there. Maybe the game wasn’t that accommodating, after all. I needed to get used to this taller, big-shouldered avatar of mine before I wasted one of my five precious lives.

  Rubbing my shoulder, I looked around the dim interior. A layer of straw covered the floor. Benches sat haphazardly around, many without tables. Odd. I approached the bar, which had a single attendant, an orc woman with thick dreadlocks. Bumping my hip against it, I nodded at her and, trying not to be awkward, asked, “Is this where new players trade work for lodging?”

  She stared at me, then continued lining up horn cups on a shelf. Well, great. I guessed she didn’t know American English, 2025 edition. Time to try out Orcish.

  “Use strength mine. Sleep here, I.” Orcish sounded a little like German on steroids, with some growling thrown in. It translated oddly. I thought I used the correct phrasing, thanks to the program learning, though it left gaps as big as windows.

  My English-speaking brain thought it sounded offensive, but she grunted, basically saying yes. I scratched my head and looked around, figuring she’d tell me what she wanted done. Meanwhile, I hoped that those benches weren’t going to double as my bed. The street would be comfier.

  She finished her task, disappeared behind a flap of pebbly-looking lizard skin, and reemerged with a big basket of potatoes, a knife, and an empty pot. I tried not to roll my eyes. Low dex, no in-game cooking experience. This should be fun.

  While I got busy peeling, I had time to ruminate. If I’d gone crazy, this had been a long delusional fugue. Archive had assured me I wasn’t dead. Did I believe that talking whiteboard? I didn’t know what to think.

  These weren’t my hands, this wasn’t my world, and I hoped I wouldn’t be eating these potatoes. I’d nicked myself and bled on some.

  Sometime later, I had a pot full of bloody potatoes and a dozen nicks on my left hand. A few cuts went deep. The bartender watched the whole time and never even tossed a cloth my way to keep my blood off the potatoes.

  Pretty sure no health inspectors ever darkened this door. Maybe her patrons liked their taters with extra iron.

  I felt like we built a real rapport, what with her seeing my mad peeling skills. Still, I had to figure out how to frame my question. Flat-out asking if someone was an NPC had to be impolite.

  As I smeared my palms on my thighs, I asked, “What many long seasons be in Bauring Dath you?”

  She snorted and threw her hands wide. She didn’t know?

  “What many long seasons be in Convergent City you?” I tried again.

  She shrugged again. Every non-answer led me to believe that either she was an NPC, or she really had no idea. Time had been a little weird, here. Hard to track.

  I read her name over her head. Alga. I wondered if her available stats would tell me something about her. Her HP was twice mine, and her AC was more than double mine. She wasn’t wearing armor, so it had to be from some kind of skill points, plus the racial ones pure-blooded orcs got.

  The door behind me slammed open. I shifted on my stool to see a human man stumble in. He swiped a hand at the air and shot a look around the room. Aha. He’s using an aspect screen or his HUD. He’s no NPC.

  I sized him up. Not having a good gauge on myself, I wasn’t sure how he compared to me, but he was big and burly, with a beard and shaggy brown hair. He had the same signature newbie outfit that I had. His name, floating like a pale blue ghost above him, was John Wicked.

  “Is this where we get food and stuff?”

  I looked at Alga. She had her fists on her hips, watching the new guy with a hint of suspicion. I drummed bloody fingers on the bar, not intending to interfere.

  “Is this where we get food and a place to sleep?” The man repeated, striding up to the long wooden bar. He planted his hands on the surface.

  I looked at my left hand. I’d lost five more hit points from the task I’d taken to buy my upkeep. Glancing at my HUD, my energy level was still in the green. I assumed they’d change color when they got low.

  Alga grunted and flicked her hand. It was either come here or go away. Helpful. John Wicked leaned in closer and waved his hand at her face.

  “How do you interact? I want the food menu, dammit!”

  I smirked, my tusks pressing against my lip. It felt strange to have things jutting up from my mouth, but I’d spent so long crafting perfect tusks I wasn’t about to get rid of them. Not yet, anyway. I had no idea where to go to change my avatar. This city was pretty big, from the part I could see on my mini-map, and nothing was labeled except the quests.

  Oh. Nothing except Bauring Dath, which, in orcish, translated to Fist’s Home. I realized that my name translated to My Fist. Wow. I reveled in the thrill of learning something while John Wicked reached across the bar to touch Alga.

  I was just thinking that was a bad idea when he jumped, belly flopping on the bar to grab at Alga’s apron. CRACK! The sound of her fist slamming down on his arm was sickening. John Wicked screamed in pain. I slid off my stool to fall back a few steps.

  Rust-colored smoke puffed up around John’s body, and an animalistic howl replaced the scream of pain. His eyes glowed red, body warping and contorting on the bar. His HP stat had dropped fast when Alga broke his arm, but something else was activating.

  I glanced around for the potato-peeling knife. John Wicked was about to lose it. His avatar flared a new stat bar on my HUD, labeled WERE.

  Fantastic.

  -ARCHIVE-