After switching to our ‘walking around gear’ in the training center’s locker room, the four of us — Rat Kings, one and all — made our way toward the food stands near the center of the Ouroboros dome.

We were greeted by the typical surging crowd of fellow players as soon as our boots hit the pavement in the shadow of the training center’s big, ominous cube. Dozens of men and women in our faction’s grayscale gear moved up and down the thoroughfare. Some had long arms, shotguns and rifles, slung from their shoulders or across their chests; others traveled like us, sans full armor, with sidearms strapped to their hips or thighs.

As I learned during my very short stint as a guard, carrying weapons inside the dome was largely a matter of showing off. Unless you were on your way to a portal and didn’t want to gear up right before the raid, it seemed like walking around fully armed was just an unnecessary burden — of both weight and risk.

Personally, watching Jim two paces ahead of us, struggling to carve a path for our little troupe, I was thankful not to have two tons of battle-rattle hanging off me.

“Does anyone accidentally shoot someone walking around here?” I asked Tony, who was fighting the crowd to stay in step with us.

“Accidental discharge?” he replied. “Sure. Not often, but it happens. Most peeps are careful so they don’t get banned.”

His eyes flicked over to Blackrune, but our new member didn’t seem to notice. That he had been outright executed in plain sight was proof that Afterlife had connections among the Game Masters. Maybe even the developers.

Deep in the back of my mind, that was probably why I let myself get indebted to them. Not so much to save a stranger, but because something in my gut said that if I wanted to get the developers’ attention, Afterlife could help.

But where’s the magnanimity in that? At least Blackrune took it as a selfless act. And now we’d added a kick-ass player to our ranks.

That’s what went through my head as we maneuvered through alleys and piles of sci-fi set dressing. I not only wanted to keep it to myself, but had a strong desire to push the thoughts away entirely. I liked the idea of ‘Silky the Selfless’ a lot more than ‘Silky the Guy Who Creates Problems for His Own Gain’.

“What’re we eating?” Jim asked over his shoulder. He immediately collided with a girl wearing so much armor she looked like a turtle, groaned, and rolled his eyes.

“Chow Hall has a line, as always,” Tony said, standing on tip-toes to see around the masses. Smirking and looking back our way, he added, “There’s no wait at the Nutrivat.”

“Ugh,” Jim replied as if it were an instinctive response.

I threw up my hands. “This seems like a lot of crap to go through to turn on the dermal patch.”

Nutrients pumped into our bodies via the Immersion tech. A brilliant way to keep people playing longer, but it was all part of the simulation. You want it, you’ve got to pay with in-game currency. Eat that simulated cheeseburger and pay out the ass for it — or save credits with a tube full of food paste from the Nutrivat.

“Beats paying to have a pizza delivered in RL,” Blackrune said, shrugging. “And I’d rather not chug Nutripaste. Tried it, hated it.”

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I raised my eyebrow at him. “Thought you didn’t have any credits left after buying the crowbar.”

“Got a few,” he said, smirking. “But I figured the clan would be buying for the new initiates.”

Jim’s judgmental gaze snapped to Blackrune so fast, I thought his neck might have snapped. Tony nodded, though, and I had more reasons to support the suggestion than I had credits. One reason being enough, in that case.

“Fine,” Jim said, rolling his eyes again. “Then it’s my pick. Sushi stand.” He stormed off toward the array of food vendors without waiting for our input.

***

Luckily, the huge courtyard of tables near the food stands had a lot less cross traffic to worry about. Round tables for four were abundant enough that we were able to hunker down with our food right after the NPC — if it was an NPC, not a player earning credits — handed it over in little plastic trays.

Jim didn’t hesitate to dig in, devouring rolls covered in eel sauce with his fingers. “Funny how I love this stuff in game, but can’t stand it in RL.”

Tony chuckled. “Probably ‘cuz in real life, it doesn’t taste like whatever you’re eating.”

“Whatcha mean?” asked Jim, looking up from his tray while still shoveling food to his mouth.

“It’s sim food, bro. They could be making it taste like something you do like. And that something could taste nothing like sushi.”

Jim shrugged. “Guess so.”

I took a mouthful of the Ouroboros Roll — yellowtail, mango salsa, and cream cheese — from my own tray. I used chopsticks.

“Tastes like the real thing to me,” I added after scarfing down two more bites.

Tony shook his head. “‘Cuz that’s what you want it to taste like, feel me?”

“Whatever,” I said, chuckling. “It’s good.” Glancing to Blackrune, I asked him about his tray full of California Rolls.

“They’re alright,” he came back, “but it really makes you wonder. This is like…the definition of price gouging. They can make anything taste like anything. The Nutripaste could taste like lobster.”

Tony laughed. “That it does not.”

“Exactly. They inflate the prices kind of arbitrarily, don’t you think?”

“How’s that different from a restaurant?” I asked. “Costs less to eat from a drive through than from a place with cloth napkins.”

“That has a lot to do with the ingredients. But not here. It’s all just an on-off switch for the dermal patch. They’re selling brain chemistry.”

I pensively watched Blackrune down a couple more bites, thinking. “Okay, so not like a restaurant. But that’s pretty much how game economies have worked since forever. People spend hundreds of bucks on skins. They’re not real. They don’t even do anything.”

Blackrune shrugged. “Yeah, I s’pose so.”

“Hey,” Jim cut in, narrowly hitting me in the face with a flying grain of white rice. “Stop questioning the logic and just be glad you’re eating on our dime, new guy.” Then he smiled, and I realized he’d switched to being friend-level abrasive and wasn’t trying to be a dick.

Blackrune laughed and held up his palms. “No doubt! Thanks for the chow.”

“We start hitting these portals hard,” Tony cut in, “and you’ll never have to eat Nastypaste again.”

“Sounds good to me,” Blackrune said. He was still smiling, but something about the light behind his eyes said that he wasn’t done questioning the game.