Another player arrives at the smithy. I whisper my welcome phrase without energy. If they don't talk at all, why do I have to? Logs, congratulations, coins. Hammer the piece of metal. One. Two. Three. Logs, congratulations, coins. Hammer the piece of metal. And so on ad infinitum.

I am a slave to the Game; I have no rights over myself or my life. I belong to them. To Gabriel, to the board of developers, to the Game. I'm envious of the herb girl and the boy who wants to go fishing. They don't think. They can fulfill their contract with the Game without feeling anything. I envy their ignorance.

“Isaac.” It's Marcel, again. He's been coming around for several days, trying to get me to talk to him.

“Welcome, adventurer. How can I help you?” I say coldly.

“Isaac, I know you can hear me. I know you understand me. I need to talk to you.”

“Welcome, adventurer. How can I help you?”

“It's not fair, you know,” he says. “I know you're in pain, that you feel like a slave. But it's not fair. I miss you.”

“Welcome, adventurer. How can I help you?”

He looks at me and turns crestfallen. He takes three steps away from me. He walks with clenched fists. He stops, takes a deep breath, and turns back.

“Welcome, adventurer. How can I help you?” I say.

“I promise not to bother you again,” he says. “This will be the last time I come. But please listen to me. I told my father about you. He told me he was happy for me, because I had finally made a friend, even if it was in the Game. I told him about our adventures, all these days together. When I accidentally threw a fireball at you. When you stood up to Lance in front of everyone. When you got rid of the barbarians. My father told me that he thought you had a pure soul.”

“I know you think you're a slave to the Game. There are days when I feel that only here I can be free, and others when I feel like I'm in a prison. In the end, it's all in your head, the difference between slavery and freedom.”

“My father thinks your soul is pure. I don't know if souls exist. There was a time, many years ago, before the accident, when I would have answered you with confidence. Today I don't know. But I do know one thing: there is nothing that distinguishes you and me. If souls exist and I have one inside me, then there must be another one inside you. I hope that one day you will find it and you can be free.”

“Since my mother died it hasn't been easy for me to make friends. In real life I hardly ever leave the house. And in the Game, it's hard to talk to people. I don't know. What I want to say is thank you. Thank you for having shared those days with me, for having met you. I hope we can be together, someday, somewhere.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Marcel turns and walks away. And there's nothing I can do to make him stop.

It's for the best. The best thing for him. He doesn't belong near me. He needs real friends, not computer simulations.

[https://imgur.com/ysXLDcV.png]

Lance has not returned to the forge. He disappeared through the portal in Hara's cavern five days ago and that was the last time I saw him. No one else has asked me again for the bandit mission. Nor do I offer it. That will mean that Hara has not died again. I'm happy for her, I hope she's well.

Marcel has not come back either. The days are getting long, and not many players want to pick up logs, but I prefer it.

I don't go for walks anymore. Sometimes, at night, I think about going to Hara's cave, to talk to her. But I mustn't break the contract. I don't want to upset Gabriel anymore.

I miss the conversations with Marcel. I remember his every word, when he told me about the accident, or about his father the preacher, or about his cat Fluff. When he told me how his body was atrophying from spending so much time in the Game. I hope he takes better care of himself now, continues his rehabilitation, and can regain some strength. I even miss the trouble he always got me into, just a little bit. It almost always involved a fireball, for one reason or another.

Now I understand why I have perfect memory, or why I am able to move with instant reflexes. I am a machine. I am not based on neurons that slowly propagate information from one to another in a brain, changing state no more than ten or fifteen times per second. The code that makes me up runs at billions of instructions per second. Analyzing an image, calculating a trajectory, is something I can do in milliseconds without the greatest effort.

When it gets dark, I lie down and think about my cats. I know they don't exist, but I still love them. Likewise, it's not clear to me that I exist either. I imagine petting them, playing with them. It's the only time I feel free. They are my most precious asset, and for nothing in the world would I ever want to lose them again.

At dusk I see the barbarian with the oversized helmet approaching the forge. He looks at me suspiciously, I suppose because our last encounter didn't go so well.

“Welcome, adventurer. How can I help you?” I say.

He asks me for the medallion mission and leaves. I don't get it, this is the first time someone other than Lance asks me for this mission. It's very strange.

Anyway, I don't think Hara will have any trouble getting rid of that jerk.

A minute later another player appears, also to ask me for this mission again. And another one. And another more. After ten minutes, fifteen players have come to ask me for the mission. And I see ten other players approaching the forge.

Something has happened. Something has changed.

I pull out my holo-bracelet and see that there is an exclamation mark in the message folder. I click on it and read it:

Inhabitants of Windfiled: As a new feature, the reward for the night mission ‘retrieve the medallion’ offered by the blacksmith has been changed. The new reward consists of 10,000 gold coins and 5,000 experience points. The mission can be requested at the blacksmith's forge in Windfield.

Crap. Gabriel must have modified the mission reward since Hara wasn't dying anymore. He wants to make sure that Hara passes through his hands every day without fail.

I can't help but feel disgusted.

It's over. It's not worth it. Let them ‘update’ me if they want, let them delete me forever. I'm not going to stand by and watch them do something like this to someone.

I take off my apron and throw it on the floor. I pick up the hammer from the forge. I squeeze the handle hard. The players in front of me complain that I don't pay attention to them, but I ignore them.

“Find someone else to attend to you. I quit.”

I run off into the woods.