I stepped out into the courtyard of the mansion and drew in the brisk afternoon air. The place was alive with people coming and going, in and out of the starting area, but I had not yet seen any players besides myself.

The people were dressed in all sorts of fashion - robes and jackets and exquisite dresses. Some even sported stranger, dare I say, fantasy gear. High collar coats that hung past the knees, skimpy leather armor that looked more like fetish gear, and one guy even had horns sticking out of his wrist plates.

When I walked to the edge of the courtyard, I found the world. Below me down the steps, the port city was filled with houses and shops and taverns, split by the winding cobblestone roads that each held their own army of busy people going to and fro. Beyond the rooftops of this lively city, I saw the ocean touch the sky. Ships were docked in the trading area, some coming and some embarking to a faraway land.

Seeing so much blue and taking in this pure, life-giving air was a stark contrast to the life I've led back home - the bubble worlds of red deserts and thin atmospheres.

Wasn't it? I could hardly recall.

I walked down the steps and into the market, pushing through the lunch crowds to steal a glance of what was for sale. Trade items - linens, cotton, silk, smith's tools. Weapons - bows, axes, swords, and shields. Apparel, food, entertainment, information, guilds.

Guilds! Some recruiters were stopping passersby to advertise openings in their clans or groups or mercenary factions, each offering a steady paycheck to nipsies and experience to players.

I caught sight of the first player there in the market, at least I was sure it was a player, as no person could shamelessly go shopping for armor while wearing nothing but skimpy underclothes. The shopkeepers' faces were glowing red as the girl stripped down for each offered set of armor, both to ensure the fit and to amuse herself with their reactions. Her comrades - some low-level knights and mages - had doubled over in laughter at the sight.

Another merchant was having an argument with one of the players. Both were snapping insults at each other about some nonsense – prices, probably – and it looked like they were ready to start stabbing each other. A nearby guard hurried over. His domineering presence alone was enough to shut them both up. I didn’t know what level the guard was, but it had to have been crazy.

“Typical players,” a voice said with malice, almost as a threat. I wasn’t alone. Standing next to me was an older man, balding white hair, eyes squinted with age. This guy was clearly a stage 2 creeper.

“Uh, what?”

“They do this sort of thing all the time,” the old man said. “All the time, all the time.”

“The players?” I asked.

He nodded. “They cheat, they steal, they trespass. They think they can get away with anything.”

This dude was obviously some kind of ist, though I didn’t know which ist he would be. We had racists, nationalists, sexists, but I wasn’t sure what type of prejudice was being practiced here. Playerist? Nipsyist? Whatever the case, I didn’t want to let him know I was a player. That was a level of awkward I was not prepared for.

Yet I did not want to completely walk away. The NPCs of this world were so incredibly realistic in how they acted and behaved, it was mesmerizing. He was so… free. “Do a lot of nipsies hate players?” I asked.

“Huh? Oh.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I’m probably one of the few with my head on straight. These youngsters haven’t seen a damn thing, not a damn thing, so they don’t know a damn thing.” His eyes turned dark, his smile devious. He snapped his attention to me, glancing around for others nearby – we were in a crowd, but none seemed to notice us. He eased down into a whisper. “You seem like a smart girl. A smart girl, yes. You ought to come player-killing with us.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Oh,” I murmured. Getting stabbed by a wandering creeper was not on my to-do list. “I, uh, I’m a pacifist.” I grimaced, for even I knew how unbelievable that excuse was. I looked around for any avenue of escape.

He paused. The color drained from his face. Did he figure me out already? He stepped closer, his eyes unblinking and vacant as he reached into his pocket. I stumbled back. “You,” he uttered. “You are—"

I punched him in the face. I didn’t even need to – I just panicked.

The old guy yelped and tumbled to the ground. People in the crowd began to turn to watch the commotion, and before I realized it, I was the center of attention, standing like a villain who had just decked a senior citizen. This was bad. Whispers and murmurs. Pointed fingers and accusatory glances. The old man writhed in exaggerated agony. Then the guards came.

“Ma’am,” the guard said from underneath his helmet, “explain what happened here.” He gestured at the old man who was still curled up in the fetal position. “Why did you punch this old dude?”

“I, uh,” I stammered. “He was about to—"

“He was about to attack her,” a girl said behind me. I looked over to see a dark-skinned girl, my height, with blonde hair and white tattoos. Her suit of armor was scuffed and dinged up, and a taller boy stood beside her.

“I am also a witness.” The guy was young, my age, with windswept black hair and a confident smile. This was the avatar of the weeaboo. He was dressed in heavy white robes and held a long wood staff. It looked like a thin piece of driftwood. “She was only defending herself.”

The guard stared at us for a painful few seconds, then at the old man, then back at us before nodding. Maybe he was sizing us up, maybe he was plotting a murder. Regardless, the guard’s icy stare chilled me to my core, and I wanted to be far away from here. “Fine,” he said. “Just keep out of trouble.”

I sighed. The tension deflated in the market square. The crowd returned to its usual business, the possible serial killer was scooped off the ground and carried away, and the world kept on turning. “Thanks,” I said, looking over at the couple who helped me.

They were staring me down with hungry, predatory eyes and a lust for adventure. "Don’t worry about it,” the guy said with a charming smile. It was contagious. “Hey, you seem new, what level are you?" The girl kicked the back of his knee. "Ow! Sorry, I’m Smith." His voice was wine.

"I'm Simone!” the girl said. “Level 3 Knight!" Her voice was a strawberry smoothie. "Smith is still just a level 1 healer.”

"I'm... I'm Alex. I'm a soon-to-be level 5 mage. It's nice to meet you."

"Oh sweet," Smith said. "Hey, we're looking for members for a new guild I'm trying to start." He presented a scroll. On it, a couple names had been scribbled, and beneath them, a number of blank lines remained. "We only need a few more signatures to start."

I gave it a good look over. The White Lions, he wanted to call it. I originally wanted to explore the world solo before I found a group. "Hmm..."

"Ha. How about I sweeten the deal," he said. "10 gold?"

"Is that a lot?"

"Well," he trailed off.

"He has a few hundred," Simone said with a wink.

I smiled back. I was already sold by their chemistry, and it was the least I could do after they just saved me. "Alright." I took their writing pen, surprisingly not a quill this time, and wrote in my name before handing the scroll back. "Now what?"

"Thanks!" Smith said. "Now we keep looking for a few more. Keep in touch until then!"

"Wait, how?" I asked. "I can't just call you from the other side of town, I don't think."

"Oh yeah, here." He brought up his hand and swung open his menu. It was a floating blue holograph that held an array of information.

"How did you open that?" I spit out. "I can't get mine to work." I mimicked the motion, but my screen still didn't open.

Smith chuckled at the attempt. "It's because you're an NPC, right?"

I crossed my arms at the accusation. "No," I said with narrowed eyes. "I'm not.”

Smith pulled his confused expression to Simone as if she could help him in this awkward moment. She gave me an empty smile and said, "We can see who the players are and..."

I scoffed. "It's fine," I waved away the tension. "It's probably just a bug or something." They laughed at the thought.

"Anyway," he continued, "take this item." He pulled up a list, tapped on a selection, and a small paper ribbon manifested in front of him. Catching it, he pushed the menu out of existence and handed the paper to me. "Whenever you want to chat, just use this."

I picked it up from one end and inspected it like it was a type of fish. They chuckled at me.

"You write on it," Simone said. "It'll pop up on our feed, and our chat also connects to yours. It won't work until the guild is started."

I shrugged and pulled my hair back into a ponytail, using the ribbon to tie it in place. Smith laughed, to my confusion, before catching sight of another passerby. "Oh, that dudes a rogue, I think. Hey! Excuse me!" He took off after the other stranger.

Simone tossed me a handful of coins. "You're a strange one," she smiled. "I like that." She chased after Smith and disappeared into the crowd.