It was getting late in the afternoon when Hunter realized that, well, it was getting late in the afternoon. They hadn’t traded a word in a while, he and Fawkes. Hunter half-expected Fawkes to constantly keep an eye on him, or at least to take his weapon away. She did neither. Hunter preferred to think it was because she was starting to trust him, and not due to her monumentally bad mood.

In any case, they covered ground fast–so fast, in fact, that he sometimes found it hard to keep up. Still, there was no sight of the edge of the Weald. Elderpyre was so immersive he was beginning to forget he had an actual physical body lying on a bed somewhere a million miles away. He couldn’t be one-hundred percent sure, but he had a nagging feeling he had to take a leak really bad.

“Uh… Fawkes?”

“What is it?”

“I have to stop. Eat, rest, take care of… needs.”

The woman frowned.

“Squat behind the bushes if you have to, but be quick about it. You’ll rest plenty when we make it to the village.”

“No, I mean… in my world. I have to wake up there, take care of some stuff. I’ll need a few hours.”

“I see,” said Fawkes after a long pause. “So how does that work, lad? You vanish here, wake up there, then return here again when you go back to sleep?”

“It’s a kind of trance, actually. Other than that, yes, pretty much.”

“I take it you’ll reappear on the same spot you left. Can you wait until we find a good spot to set up camp, at least?”

“You don’t have to wait for me,” Hunter said. “I'll find my own way to the village and meet you there.”

Fawkes let out a humorless chuckle.

“Forget it, lad. I’ve been civil and removed your bonds, yes, but make no mistake; I’m still not done with you.”

Finding a small clearing didn’t take them more than ten or twenty minutes. Judging from the old remains of campfires near its mid, it was a common campsite for locals, too.

“Alright,” said Fawkes. “This will do. How much time do you reckon you’ll need?”

Hunter squinted at the small piece of open sky above them the thick canopy didn’t cover, trying to figure the time of day.

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“I guess I can be back by nightfall.”

“No point in that,” she shook her head. “Either stay there till dawn, or return and camp out over here. Regardless, we leave at first light. Oh, and don’t try to do anything funny like sneaking away.” The woman’s lips split in a predatory smile. “I will track you down and make you wish you hadn’t.”

For some reason, Hunter didn’t doubt it.

He didn’t doubt it at all.

***

The very moment he disconnected, he realized he’d have to keep better track of the time and his real-world needs.

Not only was his mouth parched and his stomach rumbling, it was also a small miracle his bladder hadn’t burst. He almost considered letting it all go right then and there on his bed. Almost. The only thing that made him find the strength to crawl to the bathroom was the mental image of having to tell Officer Carpenter he needed fresh linens because he wet the bed–and subsequently, of course, getting mocked halfway to death.

After what must have been the world’s longest leak, he drank three cups of water, had a hot shower, and went down to the cafeteria for a quick bite. He was sore all over from spending hours upon hours lying in bed. He did some stretches, walked around in the yard a bit. He really had to figure out some kind of daily routine, including exercise, and stick to it. If he was planning to spend the next year more-or-less living in Aernor, he’d have to find a way to make it sustainable.

There was something else, too. His week-long cabin vacation had done wonders to help him get past the shock of getting shredded to death by Mist Stalkers, so much so that he was beginning to wonder whether it’s normal to perk up this quickly.

After the fight with the low-dwellers and the blood-curdling scene in the clearing, however, the dread was beginning to come back to him–and so was the anger. Now that he was back to reality, he’d suddenly gotten mighty irritable. Elderpyre was traumatic. It wasn’t a game; it was the kind of thing that would give a man nightmares, severe anxiety, and expensive therapy bills.

Pissed, tired, and grumpy, he picked up the phone and dialed zero.

“Yeah, what?” asked some guard at the other end of the line. Carpenter, judging from the voice and the attitude.

“It’s Rulin. I wanna talk to Grimm, give him a piece of my mind. Submit a formal complaint or something.”

The woman sighed, and Alex could almost picture her rolling her faded blue eyes.

“Why, what is it this time?”

“If this keeps up, I’m gonna need a shrink, that’s what it is this time. This thing is no game. It’s a goddamn psychological experiment.”

“What, did you manage to kick the bucket again? No–you know what, don’t tell me. Complaint duly noted. I’ll inform Mr. Grimm next time I speak to him.”

“Hey, no, I wanna speak to him–”

“Bye-bye, Rulin. Don’t call again.”

Alex had more to say, of course, but Carpenter hung up on his face. He tried to call again a few times, but the line had simply gone dead.

“Damn bureaucrats,” he grumbled to himself. Another reason to be mad at Grimm. Alex would try again the next day, and the day after, until he’d busted Carpenter’s balls enough to get her boss on the line–or to come over to his room and shoot him, whichever happened first.

At this point, he’d be kind of fine with either.

For now, however, all he wanted to do was sleep like the dead. Fighting against corpse-eating mutants took a much heavier toll on the brain than simply sitting around enjoying the Great Outdoors, even in virtual reality.

Who would have thought, right?