After seven months of being trapped inside the virtual world of Darkest Wells Online, user Beam Psykko has remained in the safety of the tutorial.

Beam's calloused knuckles throb as his arm blurs through the air, striking the massive stone slab in the grass with all the force he can muster.

He imagines the rest of the players who moved on fighting impossible odds to beat the game and go home, but there is no way to know unless he takes the plunge into one of the wells leading to the main game, set in a subterranean hellscape.

But in a situation where dying in the game kills your body in real life, the risk is too intimidating. Better ignored. Better to stay here, and train his avatar to the limit of its power.

With each hit, he can feel himself change as another sliver of strength is fused into his body.

"Whoever..." The new energy flows into his punches, quicker with each strike. "Added pain receptors to this game..." His arms are moving too quickly for even him to follow. "Is an asshole!"

He musters everything he can into a final blow. The dust irritates his eyes, and pebbles and fragments scratch at him as they fly past.

"Nine hundred and thirteen." He holds up one hand and surveys the damage. His gaze follows the ebb and flow of the cracks in his bleeding knuckles, like streams of water running through broken ground.

By the time his stamina has recovered, a new slab has already spawned in and replaced the rubble.

He checks his menu again, but nothing has changed. Tutorial Zones block access to seeing stats or levels, so he has no idea how much experience he has actually gained.

The only clue lies in how quickly he can destroy these stone slabs.

Again. And again. Because the sun never sets, and his avatar never needs sleep, he never stops training.

But in a boring, lonely world with no danger or other people, Beam keeps finding himself stopping to stare into the many wells spread across the Surface World Zone. According to the information in the pop-up menu, each one leads to a different biome in the main game.

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The only way to know where one leads is to take the plunge.

He can't stay here forever, as badly as he wishes. Every day he spends in this world, more time passes with his body hooked to the game, on some hospital bed. How long would his family be able to pay for him to live like this?

As he punches the stone slabs and paints them red, the thoughts refuse to leave. He wonders if survival is even worth hoping for.

Either he dies in the game fighting, and his brain is cooked in his skull, or eventually he will be dumped from the hospital into some home. If the money runs out, it doesn't matter how hard he can punch a rock in a video game.

When the fear, stress and loneliness are too much to bear, he finds only one thing can empty his mind; long, painful sprints where he can push himself to the limit.

At first his feet glitch and wade through the ground like molasses, but as the momentum picks up his metal boots move along so quickly that he feels he might be floating above the grass.

Everything here is the same sunny green plains, and the mountains always lurk on the horizon. He knows they are only an image wrapped around his world; a wallpaper. But they still make him feel small and insignificant.

What about when I leave?

By now anyone still alive must be wearing the best equipment in the game, and compared to his day one default shorts and T-shirt, they would also feel like an unapproachable mountain.

As Beam runs, an ear-shattering screech puts him to a complete stop.

Enemies aren't able to spawn here, what's going on?

Clouds gather in the sky, crackling with thunder and lightning in the distance.

For the first time, Beam watches as the sun begins to set. The sky crackles with pixelated lightning.

"Player... name." The voice is distorted and guttural.

He turns, but no one is there. "Who is that?! An NPC?!"

"Player... name... Beam Psykko. You have been, been, been..."

He can't find any sign of anyone, standing with his back to a well. He shakes, staying on his toes and trying to be ready for an attack from any angle.

The voice has become even more warbled until he can hardly understand. "Player name Beam Psykko. You have been drafted for war."

From inside the well, a mass of flickering pixels in the shape of a hand rises, attached to an arm of scrambled game textures of eyes and teeth.

"Drafted for war, war... Drafted for..."

When the hand reaches the top of the well, Beam is already running away.

The air turns cold in the absence of the sun, and the wind stings on his skin as he sprints faster than ever.

"The fuck was that?!"

He doesn't dare look back. His ribs push against his lungs like nails, but he pushes harder, ignoring the limits of his stamina and dipping into his health.

Running past another well, he swerves to the right and dives behind it.

"What... What was..." Struggling to catch his breath, he peaks around to see if whatever creature behind the hand is following. No one is there.

"Player name Beam Psykko. You have been drafted for war."

From inside the well, he leans against, another hand reaches out and grabs him by the collar of his shirt.

"No! Jesus Christ no!" He opens his inventory, but before he can unequip the shirt, he is pulled head-first into the well.