The weeks following are much the same. I stand in my shop, waiting for customers to come in and complete their transactions without any input from me. On Tuesdays, the servers shut down, and our little group meets up in Bert’s inn to play cards and shoot the shit. They inform me of as many game details as they can recall, the politics between in-game characters, and even some juicy drama between players and their guilds.

  “Turns out he was boning the guy’s wife on raid night” Jack cackles obnoxiously, capping off a story about a group of players attacking a location full of monsters, known as a dungeon. Apparently, the main appeal of the game for most players is in the content at the very highest level of the game, raiding dungeons. The game provides dungeons full of challenging monsters that drop rare and powerful equipment. The players use that equipment to do the same thing the following week with slightly more ease. They do this over and over again for months or years, until a new dungeon is released.

  “That sounds boring” I remark, showing my pair of kings to the group. They all groan, realizing I’d successfully bluffed.

  “Well,” Gunner begins, collecting the cards to deal. “They live for it. Some of them race to be the first to defeat the brand-new dungeon bosses, with real life money on the line. Some players take it slow and gradually beat the bosses over the course of a few months.”

  “Other players are obsessed with offing each other” Jack pipes up, staring hard at his new hand of cards.

  “A fight between orcs and other monster people must be really intense.” I comment, trying to remember what it’s called when I have four of the same cards. Oh yeah, duh, four of a kind. I’ve got this round in the bag.

  “Oh, they don’t fight each other, not to the death at least. They kill humans and other human-like species.” Jack says casually.

  “What?” I yell, standing suddenly, my chair clatters to the floor behind me and my cards fly all over the table. “There are humans in this game?”

  “Yeah?” Jack looks at my cards, grumbling once he sees what I’ve got. “Your beginner’s luck should have run out by now.”

  “Why the hell did laser face make me an orc?” I lower my voice a little, realizing I’m making a scene.

  “Should it have made you a human?” Bert asks, not bothering to announce that he’s folded.

  “Well yeah, obviously!” I turn to him, hands gesturing wildly.

  “Why?” Bert asks, eyebrow raised.

  “Well…” I start, but don’t have a good answer for. “Because it just makes sense.”

  “Dunno how you mean bud.” Jack says, the flick of his left ear the tell that he’s got a good hand.

  “I don’t either.” Sitting back down, I take my new hand but don’t really consider what’s in it. Why do I think I should’ve been human? Why does it matter so much to me? “I still can’t see your names like I’m supposed to.” I mutter. We all turn as a chair near the door loudly screeches. Toebark, for the first time since I’ve met him, is standing and making his way over. Towering over me, he extends his open palm, a small rock in the center.

  “Throw it.” he says. The voice sounds as if his rotund body is supposed to be comical. It sounds like a struggle for him to speak, like he’s got a mouth full of pudding. As I take the stone from him, the cyclops turns and returns to his seat. “Exactly five feet in front of you.” I stand, and aim at the ground. I have to guess the distance, and it takes me a few tries. The only reason I know I did it is because of what happens after.

  Urul Mulush throws a rock!

  The text appears in the bottom left corner of my vision, instead of the middle, surrounded by a translucent box. My vision is suddenly cluttered with colored text and information. As I look around, I finally see the names hovering over my companions, green, and Toebarks name, yellow, just like they’d said.

  Perthag. Level 1

  Gunpheus. Level 1

  Jacgarbagle. Level 1

  Toebark. Level 1

  As my vision stops on certain objects, like signs, text appears over them, translating the orcish language to English for me. The Boar Tusk Inn. So that’s what Bert’s place is called. Urul’s Armors, the sign hanging from my shop says in the distance.

  “Why don’t I have a nickname yet?” I suddenly think to ask, looking at everyone’s true names.

  “Bert says it’s rude to impose” Jack responds. “Don’t want to force one on you, what with you needing time to get used to everything. Not to mention your goofy-ass teeth making your goofy-ass name easier to pronounce. For you at least. The rest of us just struggle along until you’re Ready.”

  “Call me Earl.” I tell them.

  Then the servers come back on and I'm back in my shop. Now that I can see it, I pass the time reading the chat between players on the public channel.

  Goonerman says: Clearly Isabel is the hottest.

  Krackerot says: Isn’t she a teenager?

  Goonerman says: Who cares?

  More often than not it’s something derogatory, perverted, or both. Sometimes a player is trying to sell an item to another or selling a “carry” through a dungeon. Whatever that is.

  Peter says: Good morning everyone!

  Goonerman says: Shut up cuck

  That interaction stands out because I actually hear someone say hello aloud simultaneously. “Hello!” it says again, cheerily. Curious, I poke my head out and spot the source. A satyr, with hoofed goat legs and small curled horns, is waving to players as they pass him by, paying no mind.

  Peter. Level 8

  “Hey.” I call to him.

  “Oh hey!” he responds, clopping over to me. “How are you?”

  “Good,” I say, suddenly on guard. “Yourself?”

  “I’m fantastic!” He throws his hands into the air. “Finally got enough of my allowance saved up to buy an immersion rig! The game is so lifelike with it! I decided to start from scratch with a new character to experience the game from the beginning again!” he breathlessly explains.

  “Uh huh. So you’re a player?” I say, keeping my tone even. This is the first player I’ve met that actually talks back, and I’m not sure if there's etiquette I need to follow.

  “Sure am!” he says, with a huge grin.

  “Well I’m a shopkeeper. Feel free to sell me whatever boar crap you’ve collected and armor or weapons too neglected to bother using.” I walk back behind my counter, standing tall, ready to have the transaction process without my input like it always does.

  “Roleplaying huh?” he laughs. Peter, as I can see from the name hovering over his head, steps into my shop, enthralled by the basic armor hanging on the walls. “So shiny!”

  “Thank you.” I wait patiently for him to finish admiring my goods. There’s no chance he’s going to buy anything, why bother looking?

  “All right” he says, finally making his way over to me. “I’ve got 67 boar skins, 18 boar tusks, a worn cloak, two rusty short swords, and a dented buckler.” He lists off a huge pile of junk he intends to “sell” to me instead of just doing it.

  “Okay?” I say, doing my utmost to remain cordial.

  “Do you want to trade? How does one gold sound?” He asks me.

  “Go for it” I say, waiting for him to figure it out himself. What’s this guy’s deal? He raises his right hand and taps his index finger in the air, almost as if he was clicking a mouse. Without warning, a huge rectangle takes up half of my vision. I jump back, watching as one by one, the items he described fill in little boxes within the larger rectangle. A little checkmark next to the words “Ready to Trade!” appears at the bottom.

  “Ready when you are! One gold, right?” he says, his face half obscured by the box. I hunt around, trying to make sense of it. On the bottom left-hand side, three little boxes with the image of colored coins next to them call to me. I stare hard at the box next to the gold-colored coin, thinking of the number one. Like magic, the number appears. Next, I focus on the box next to “Ready to trade!”, and it fills in with a check. The box disappears as suddenly as it had appeared.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Trade completed.

  “See ya around, Mister Ulush!” He leaves me, standing alone and deeply confused.

  I relay the experience to my companions next Tuesday morning, most of them had similar experiences with the same player.

  “So he opens what I could only imagine is a player-to-player trade window, and gives me a pile of junk for a gold piece. As far as I can tell from the other transactions, he ripped me off. I don't actually receive any of the money, so who cares, right?” I finish my recounting.

  “He was pretty perky when he came to get his Hertston, but I didn’t respond. we’re supposed to be computer characters, we only have three or four things to say, over and over.” Bert tells me.

  “I fixed his leather armor. He didn’t have to come to me as far as i know, he could have knocked that out with you Earl.” Gunner says.

  “Even though I’m like a general store armor guy, and you’re the leather guy?” I ask

  “The term you’re looking for is leather daddy” Jack chimes in. He snickers at Gunner’s scowl.

  “Yeah. Any ol’ armor vendor can fix your shit.” Gunner adds.

  “I’m glad he didn’t need anything from me. I might have thrown up from his chipper attitude.” Jacks tells us.

  “I don’t think he was so bad after all. I just get nervous when I’m meeting someone for the first time and they’re so high energy, you know?” I ask

  “Sure. Lucky for you, we’re the tutorial N.P.C.’s, and we’ll probably never see him again.” Jack remarks.

  “Good” Toebark responds, having said nothing before or after. We all leave it at that.

  Early Friday morning, I look up from my counter to see the first customer of the day is a gargantuan gray minotaur, decked out head-to-toe in overdesigned, dark metal fantasy armor. I take a step back, thrown off by his appearance.

  Thunderspank the Thunderous. Level 90 Warrior

  Thunderspank the Thunderous has initiated a transaction.

  “Uh,” I begin to say, expecting such a clearly high leveled, experienced player to be using an immersion rig and be capable of speech. He does not react, staring blankly over me. “I would’ve expected you to…”

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Esquire, Blade of the King. He receives 103 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Mirood, Shield of the Mage-Killer. He receives 200 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Helm of the Vanquished Hero. He receives 60 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Shoulders of the Vanquished Hero. He receives 40 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Breastplate of the Vanquished Hero. He receives 99 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Leggings of the Vanquished Hero. He receives 76 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Boots of the Forgotten Path. He receives 49 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Necklace of Broken Hearts. He receives 88 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Knight’s Lost Ring. He receives 40 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold Impenetrable Cloak. He receives 39 gold.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold 99 Ultimate Health Potions. He receives 99 silver.

  Player Thunderspank the Thunderous has sold 99 Well-Done Steaks. He receives 99 silver.

  Items added to inventory.

  “What?” I ask the empty air, as the now naked player jogs out of my store, stops at the nearest mailbox, stands there for a moment, then disappears. Inventory? What’s that supposed to mean?

  “So then he stands in front of the mailbox near Jack’s place, dick out, and logs off.” I finish recounting my experience to the group on the next Tuesday after.

  “That’s hilarious.” Jack says, chewing on a chicken bone like a cigar.

  “I’m still trying to figure out what “Items added to inventory” is supposed to mean. The assembled group all stare at me, a weird look in their eyes. “What?” I ask, as I hear loud footsteps rapidly approaching from behind.

  Toebark spins my chair around with one smooth motion, easy for him even with me in it.

  “Hit me.” Toebark commands.

  “What? Why?” I push myself as far back into my chair as I can.

  “Because I can’t hit you first.” He says plainly. “Now.”

  “Alright man if you insist.” I stand up to him, barely an inch taller than his belly button, and push my fist into his stomach. Even holding back as much I can, Toebark winces at the impact.

  Combat engaged.

  “Er…” I read the notification. Toebark looms four heads taller than me, muscular arms as big as my whole torso making me go cross eyed trying to keep track of them. I flinch, expecting him to start swinging.

  “Now think of the letter I.” he says without making a move. I do as he says, worried that noncompliance will result in me being splattered across the inn. A box with a backpack in the corner appears in my vision. Toebark recognizes the look in my eyes. “Now look at each of the items he gave you. Think about wearing them. Think the word equip.” I follow these instructions just as promptly. I hear the sound of belt buckles and leather scraping in my ears as the armor appears on my body.

  “Holy shit” I say, as an ornate blade made of silver and gold appears in my hand.

  “If it’s still on you when the servers come back, take it off. The same way you put it on, just the opposite. If the monitor catches you wearing that, it will not end well.” Toebark finishes the longest sentence I’ve ever heard him speak. “Next Tuesday we’ll figure out next steps. It’s been too long now, the servers will be back any minute.” true to his word, I pop back to my store soon after. Distracted by a sudden flood of customers, the rest of the day passes without my noticing.

  Server shutdown in 15 minutes.

  Onezeronezero says: again?

  Utmoist says: nooooo!

  Joint says: aw man I called in sick to play.

  “Huh,” I say. I’ve never had a server shutdown on a Wednesday. I watch as players bitch and moan up to the last second before the world is quiet. I casually wander over to the inn, Toebark and Bert are standing in the doorway.

  “It doesn't happen often, far as I know they only do this when something went wrong with yesterday’s patch.” Bert tells me as I approach. A patch is an update to the game they make while the server is down. Usually it’s just marginal differences to the player's abilities to balance out the different classes they play. I think yesterday, an ability called Shield Bash’s damage was reduced by 2%. Players in the chat were furious after the servers came back online.

  “Was two percent actually too much, like they were saying?” I ask, noticing Toebark hasn’t said anything but is watching me like a hawk.

  “Maybe. Who knows.” Bert walks back into the inn. As I make to follow him, Toebark puts his arm out, blocking me.

  “You didn’t take off the armor.” He stares dagger at me. Not daggers, as he only has one eye to do it with.

  “Ah shoot I forgot.” I say, opening the inventory screen. “How do I do it again?

  “The Monitor didn’t catch you.” Toebark’s look softens, contemplative.

  “Good thing too” I say, trying to peel the boots off manually. It doesn’t work. Toebark grabs my shoulder, I look up at him and just now notice tears pouring from the middle of his face. “Hey, what’s up big guy?”

  “You can do it. You can leave” he says, choking out the words two at a time. “The eye of the Monitor is not on you” Toebark turns from me, grabbing his chair with one hand and placing it at the table he’s never sat at with us. “Come.”

  Toebark proceeds to tell me his story, how he used his given blacksmithing skill to craft his own armor and weapons. Trying different actions one after another, he finally unlocked the game interface the players use. Fully equipped and ready to take on the world, he left the city, only to be teleported back.

  “Every time I tried to leave the leash grew tighter. Shorter.” He rubs his neck, as if there were a literal collar around it.

  “He’s the reason we can only make it ten feet from our designated spot before getting zapped back” Jack remarks, having joined us mid-story.

  “I managed to slay some boars. There is a decimated forest just beyond the city limits teeming with them.” A tusk appears in his hand. “No matter how precise I was, they gave me random loot. A perfectly intact boar would yield no tusks. A boar’s smashed body, ruined by my club, would give me a perfect pair and an ice-cold glass of milk.”

  “Milk?” I ask, as Toebark’s hand is suddenly holding one. A clear glass, mostly filled with milk. “Well I'll be. Didn’t know you could milk a boar”

  “You can milk any mammal” Gunner says from the bar across the room, enjoying a drink and steak. I wonder about cannibalism, but I don’t mention it.

  “I didn’t milk it.” Toebark says, matter-of-factly. “I looted the boar, and it just had it.” Toebark pours the milk out in the fire, producing smoke and a weird smell. “It wasn’t balancing it on its head or holding it in its mouth. The creatures in this game can drop random things with no logical explanation.”

  “It is a video game” Jack says, molding his hands out and rotating his thumbs as if he were holding a controller. Or breasts. You never know with Jack.

  “Soon after I killed the boar I got the notification I was being teleported back.” Toebark says, getting my attention back from the salacious thumb action. “I went out again and again, until the Monitor paid me a visit personally.” A chill went through the group, despite the roaring fire. “It told me I had violated the terms of my contract and would be punished accordingly.”

  “So now the players can hurt you.” I say. Toebark just nods..

  “You don’t have to worry about that.” Toebark starts, but I hold my hand up to speak.

  “I get teleported back just like you guys.” I say, trying to stop him from getting his hopes up.

  “Mm.” Toebark responds, contemplating. “If the Monitor didn’t notice you’re still in the armor, maybe… it works as a disguise?”

  “So, it thinks I’m a player because I’m in player armor?” I arch my eyebrow, worried Toebark is getting ahead of himself and putting me in danger.

  “Toebark, you sure about this?” Bert steps into the conversation. “You might be sending Earl into danger. You know better than anybody what the consequences are.”

  Toebark responds by slamming his massive fist on the table, splintering it.

  “We have to try!” he bellows, making me press my back into the chair to get further away from him. He watches me cowering and takes a deep breath. “He has to try.” he says, more calmly.

  “Why?” I ask. We sit in silence for a long moment before Toebark responds.

  “We don’t remember how long we’ve been trapped here. In this game.” Toebark indicates to each member of the group. “Bert has been here the longest. We know that because he was here when I showed up next. Then Gunner. Jack… who knows.” Everyone watches Jack sympathetically.

  “I didn’t understand what was going on and I was scared to talk at first.” Jack admitted, the first time I’ve heard him speak openly since we’d met. “I think I was here second, but the days all blur together.” The group nods, respecting his sudden vulnerability.

  “Ok I understand. How does me taking the risk and leaving help with that?” I look at each member, waiting for one of them to speak up.

  “Dunno.” Gunner is the first to respond. “Beats waiting around here for something to change on its own, right?”

  “There must be something connecting all of this. Why we’re real, like the players, and the other non-players are not. Why were we put here. Why we can’t leave. There's an answer outside of this city, I know it.” Toebark’s volume rises the longer he speaks. He stops once he realizes it is happening. I stare into his eye for a long while, neither of us talking.

  “Alright” I say. Toebark wipes a tear from his eye, hope filling it for the first time in a long time.