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> “The voyage has given me time to think. Maybe too much time. I always forget how sentimental I get before the end.”

“So as you can see, we’ve got our party assembled here at the outskirts of Haven’s Forge. This will be one of the five main cities that players will explore once they get past the first few hours of the game. What’s different about Hero’s Bane is that these cities are huge. We’re talking millions of different NPCs you can talk to, which makes-”

John Hammond, our founder, droned on about the game’s many radical departures from traditional MMORPGs, before introducing each of the devs and their respective handles who would be participating in the run-through.

“And you both know Jen. She’s playing as a paladin, Laura_X-23.”

I had my avatar do its class-specific dance on the screen at the front of the conference room and suppressed a smile as Duncan winced at the mention of my handle. He was probably convincing himself that it was only a coincidence, that it must be the name of some character from a dorky comic book that I’d read as a kid. Which was true, but I enjoyed seeing him stew.

“As our bold group of adventurers heads into the mountains that surround Haven’s Forge, you’ll get to see some of the-”

We fought our way up the mountain pass for the next hour before finally reaching the entrance to the dungeon, a set of stone doors carved into the mountainside.

“Normally it would take the player another four hours to locate the key, but we’ve had a bit of fun for the run-through. Jen, if you don’t mind.”

I nodded and typed “Friend” into the chat window, and the digital doors opened inward. Jeff and Duncan seemed unfazed by the easter egg we had spent weeks debating whether to include, and John tried to explain the reference before giving up and moving on.

The dungeon was immense and it was another hour and a half before the five of us had managed to get to the antechamber next to where the final boss of the run-through, Rakkah the Soul-Weaver awaited.

“Ok guys,” said Greg, “I’ll run in first, use Intimidating Shout to kinda scatter Rakkah’s minions, and then Anthony you come in and drop your Shout too so we can keep them scattered and not fight too many of them. If things get hairy, Jen, you’ll cast Divine Intervention on Frank, and then he can cast-”

“Greg,” I said politely, not wanting to make my co-worker look like an idiot in front of Hammond, “if I do that, then Frank won’t be able to cast anything.”

“Oh. Right. Fine. Jen, just make sure you’re healing us throughout so that-”

I tuned out the rest of the discussion and glanced at my watch. It was almost 1 and if we cleared out this boss in 15 minutes, even with the debrief after, I still would have about 40 minutes to head uptown to meet Beatrice.

Our plan seemed to be working fine. Rakkah waited off in the corner as he was programmed to do, letting his minions try to take us down. They were unsuccessful, as video game minions so often are, and once there were only a few left, the big boss rumbled forward on his four enormous legs and began casting his signature attack.

“Now, we’ve improved the lag compensation in the engine to handle even the most intense graphics, like our friend Rakkah here. So, Bill, could you please crank up the lag?”

One of the devs in the corner who wasn’t playing nodded and my eyes went wide.

In my speed-addled state this morning, I had completely bypassed testing for lag, which would have taken too many real-time minutes to finish before the compile deadline. Plus I was almost positive that my one little change wouldn’t be affected by lag anyway.

Spoiler alert: it was.

Rakkah’s movements suddenly became stiff and blocky and my own avatar now moved across the screen as if I was suddenly playing on a dial-up connection.

“What’s going on?” Greg typed in the chat that only the players could see. “This never happened before. Ever since we changed the attack to an insta-kill.”

Shit.

It was now crystal clear that the error I had fixed was in fact put there by design to pass the lag simulation they knew Hammond was going to run. As the game continued to hang, the players all glanced at each and then at Hammond, imploring him to smooth over the situation. But Hammond just sat there watching the screen in silence, his perfectly choreographed script going up in flames.

That’s when I took matters into my own hands and silently activated the locket around my avatar’s virtual neck, which pulled our entire party into a shimmering portal just as Rakkah’s attack landed on Greg.

“What … what happened?” typed Anthony into the group chat.

“I got our asses out of there is what,” I responded.

We emerged from the portal into the middle of a bustling square in Haven’s Forge full of NPCs milling about their business.

“Shit, I’m dying!” typed Greg. His health was slowly draining down to zero and I cast Holy Light on him to stem the tide. But the hit points that been replenished were quickly consumed by Rakkah’s lingering spell and in a matter of seconds, Greg’s avatar collapsed onto the ground.

Anthony was next, the spell having begun its viral spread to nearby players, and soon our entire party and the surrounding NPCs were all infected. We respawned on the spot, only to be reinfected by the NPCs, who couldn’t die and therefore were free to spread the spell to us over and over again.

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

“Err, why don’t we take our lunch break now while we sort this out?” Hammond finally interjected as he ushered Jeff and Duncan out of the room before they could say something.

The door closed behind the three of them and I slumped back in my chair. It would only be a matter of time before someone looked at the logs from this morning and saw that-

“I figured it out!” said Bill. “Someone changed Rakkah’s attack back to the virus spell.”

“Perfect,” said Greg. “So we’ll just change it back and then wait five hours until the whole fucking thing compiles again! Who changed it?”

I didn’t wait for Bill to state the obvious, so I fell on my sword.

“I did. Last night. Thought it was a mistake, there were no comments in the code and I-”

“Fan-fucking-tastic, Jen,” said Anthony. “Bad enough that you decided to call out sick while we’ve been busting our asses so we can impress your boyfriend, but in the five minutes you were here, you managed to completely screw up everything!”

“I didn’t mean to … I … I can fix it.”

“You will do no such thing,” said Greg, who glared at me while taking up a seat next to Bill. “You’ve done enough. We’ll take care of it, somehow.”

The devs continued to squabble with each other while the minutes ticked away. Soon Hammond would be back with Jeff and Duncan, and my job, relationship, and partnership with Beatrice would be gone within the hour. It was almost a relief that Lisa and Stacy had no idea who I was, as it was one less set of people to disappoint.

“I know!” said Greg “We just reset and then-”

“No, that won’t get rid of the virus,” Bill responded. “You’ll just die again. And again. And again.”

My eyes perked up at the mention of virus. If they wouldn’t let me touch the code base, then I would just force my way in.

I pulled out the untouched focus buff from my bag along with the remaining piece of the speed buff. The former was green and a putrid smell hit my nostrils as I tore it in half. Beatrice’s earlier warning echoed in my head, but I ignored it and smushed the two halves together before popping the multi-colored concoction into my mouth.

The room slowed to a crawl and I went to work. But where before I had seen thousands of possibilities arrayed before me, here only one path presented itself and my mind had no choice but to follow it. The lines of code flew onto the screen from my fingertips like a virtuoso constructing her masterwork. My virus would hook itself into our procedural generation engine and flood the city with undead ghouls who by definition could not be infected with Rakkah’s curse. This would provide the necessary buffer for our party to run away, like King Arthur away from the French.

In only a minute of real-time, the thousand-line virus was finished and I sent it off into the build to work its magic. After another 10 seconds, I could see the ghouls beginning to appear as red dots on the overworld map, my coworkers still obliviously arguing with each other.

I glanced at my watch. It was 1:40 and that meant that I could still make it uptown in time. So I scratched a message on a Post-It note, stuck it on top of Greg’s keyboard, and walked out of the conference room just as Hammond was escorting Duncan and Jeff back in. They couldn’t see me of course, the speed buff still working its alchemy. Later I would wish that I had doubled-over Duncan with a punch to the gut, but the focus buff had other ideas.

Such as how we were going to survive the summons.

We had plenty of individual pieces to bargain with, but on their own, they wouldn’t be enough to stem the Guild’s wrath. But just like with the virus, my brain pieced together a plan and it flowed effortlessly from my head into an essay-length text to Beatrice.

The mid-day sun hit my eyes and I recoiled from the light. Throngs of people were out and about on their lunch hours, and I weaved through them with ease until I reached the street and climbed into an empty cab.

“48th and Sixth,” I yelled to the startled driver. It was then that the focus buff gave me one final parting gift and I scrambled to write down the pearl of wisdom before my brain conked out like an overclocked processor. But it slipped from my fingers as time resumed its normal flow around me and I collapsed into unconsciousness.

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“You brought everything?” I asked, my footsteps clacking against the floor of the marble lobby as I trailed behind Beatrice, who was carrying a large cardboard box.

“Yes,” said Beatrice, “although I’m still not convinced this is the right play.”

“Me neither, but when I was hopped up on the buffs, it all made sense. At least I think it did. The last 30 minutes are pretty foggy in my mind.”

“Great,” said Beatrice.

The cab driver was nonplussed to find me passed out when we had arrived, but fortunately, Beatrice had been waiting there to retrieve me. As she pulled me from the car, she had forced the remaining portion of the vitality buff into my mouth as instructed, but that had barely made a dent in the pounding headache I was currently experiencing.

“You able to find out whose office we’re going to?” I asked as we gave fake IDs to the guard at the security desk, who lets us pass through the turnstile with a nod.

“Nope, nothing. Either for the 42nd floor or any of the five floors above and below it.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

The elevator door opened and we walked inside. Beatrice’s eyes darted around the empty cab until she spotted something in the back left corner.

“Stand under there and activate the glamour,” she said.

“What?”

“The camera is up there. So stand under it so you won’t be seen.”

“Ah. Right. But why the glamour?”

“Because I’m trying to protect you, dummy,” said Beatrice. “The Guild only knows your handle, not your face.”

“Don’t they though?” I asked, as I moved to the corner and rubbed the stone. “Those three at the Council meeting probably told them.”

“The Guild doesn’t care about the Council. Bunch of self-important idiots. They were lucky they got to help out at all.”

“Oh. Gilbert then, he saw us in the cave that night,” Jade’s voice said.

“I’m not convinced that it was him. It’s been bugging me this whole week, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

The elevator doors slowly opened on the 42nd floor and we waited in trepidation to see what lay beyond.

It was a hallway.

It had beige walls, carpeting that was once the same shade of beige as the walls, and off in the distance, what appeared to be a beige-colored door.

“No welcome wagon?” I said, stepping out of the elevator.

“Guess not,” said Beatrice.

I led the way toward the lone door at the end of the hallway, expecting at any moment that Gilbert or the hooded figure from Inwood or some other sinister character was going to come bursting through. But we traversed the hallway without incident, and I turned the knob slowly and opened the door outward to reveal the top of a dimly-lit staircase.

“Huh,” said Beatrice, peering down the stairwell. “Now we know why there’s no record of anyone on this floor. What a waste of prime Manhattan real estate.”

I helped Beatrice carry the box down the stairs, where another beige door awaited us at the bottom. Beyond it was another beige hallway, this one only a few feet long capped by yet another door. We walked forward and Beatrice nodded at me.

My heart pounded in my chest like a boxer thumping a punching bag as I opened the door and stepped through the precipice into a sun-drenched room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a massive wooden table at the center.

A black-haired woman stood with her back to us at the far end of the table and after a few seconds, she slowly turned around.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” said Dalia de Wyck.

Next: Introductions.