Upon awakening, even though it was still mid-morning, Alastair thought he had an idea. Or at least a possible way forward. Flor remained asleep beside him and he tried to fill in the holes in his thoughts.

As she stirred, he was somewhat excited about the prospect that had formed in his mind.

“What is it?” she asked, sleepily.

“Give yourself a minute to wake up, Love. We’ve got many things to discuss and do.”

“What I wouldn’t give for a good mocha.” She blinked, wiped some sleep out of her eyes, shook her head, and then looked at him. “Alright, what’s the plan?”

He took a breath so that his excitement wouldn’t overrun his words. “When we first did character creation in Holst, the program acknowledged that the simulation was a game.”

“Yeah, so? Just because doesn’t make it a self-aware LLM.” {LLM: Large Language Model.}

“That’s not where I’m going with this. Maybe an NPC exists on the island that acknowledges the island is part of a game? Those NPCs might have a greater dialogue tree, or whatever it is that the programmers use to create lifelike interactions, with increased understanding of the game dynamics.”

“So, we get on well with Horace and ask him what we’re supposed to be doing?”

“Maybe, although I expect Horace might not have the true depth of knowledge that covers the areas we’re concerned about. Like knowing about unique items that increase our powers, or where to find them.”

“So who then?” she asked.

“Somebody at the university.”

“Oh, maybe that has merit. How do we find them, though? There have got to be dozens of people at the university.”

He stood up and began to get dressed again into what he was calling his toga, then paced the two steps across the room. “It’s bound to be a named NPC, of course. Maybe they reused a character map from some other aspect of Holst. Or, worst case, we just ask around until we find what we need. It’s awful if we end up in the slammer or whatever, but we just start back here again the following day. Until we figure out how we go about it, I don’t expect powering up to be easy.”

Flor began to dress again, also. “Alright. But did you consider the Artesian district? Maybe they sell bespoke items that count as unique?”

“Briefly. I expect we’ll end up there eventually, but I don’t think it’s the appropriate starting point.”

“Alright. Let’s go back to school.”

“Yes, let’s. But let’s go get a few coins first, just in case we need a bribe or something.”

----------------------------------------

After finishing the shed and the garden puzzles, Alastair and Flor walked toward the university district. Alastair’s stomach grumbled, and they decided they’d detour to a street vendor or a hole in the wall if something smelled appetizing, which was unlikely due to the ongoing rain.

“I’d wish for tomorrow, or even today, in which the weather patterns are different. It’d be nice to not be rained on for the first twelve hours of a day,” Flor said. “I just want to be dry for a bit.”

“I seem to recall seeing covered walkways when we last passed by the university. It should be dry, there.”

“What if we get there and everyone is named? Like, how much time would it take to question everyone?”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“That’s a frightening prospect. I don’t want to relive today enough times that we have to come back to this place more than once or twice,” he said. “But, there it is; The West Shilgrave University. I want to eat before we go in. Did you see anything? Surely something is around for the students.”

“No, but it’s just about lunchtime at the tavern. It’s only a ten-minute walk from here.”

“I’d rather take the certainty. It sucks to backtrack. But maybe, even if he’s not fully aware of the game dynamics, Horace knows of someone at the university that is.”

They walked while looking for a cafe or something similar. A few minutes later they shook water off as they entered the tavern. A queue had already formed, so they waited. As they approached Horace, Alastair said, “Hi, Horace. When you’ve got a moment, we’d like to ask a few questions. How about Muscles finishes eating and then mops your kitchen floor while you and I chat?”

Your disposition with Horace has changed from suspicious to neutral.

“Sure. I’ll be there once I finish serving.”

As they sat, Flor glared at Alastair. He said, “What!? I’ve mopped that floor at least twice. Fair’s fair.”

“Fine. But don’t go around assigning me any more tasks.”

“You’re right. I should have asked. Or offered myself.”

As they dug into the usual slop, Flor said, “Don’t burn any of our credit with him, either. We’re potentially on an upswing to have our first positive relationship.”

Alastair thought about that. “We might have gotten there with Irving for rescuing his sister.”

Flor considered. “Maybe. It’s good we slept, otherwise that would still be a bit fresher in my mind. I bet he and those thugs are planning their version to get slaughtered right now.”

“Poor guy. We tried. Maybe we can help again in the future, but it’s awful to think that whatever horror is happening to those kids happens over and over.”

“Yeah, just because it’s simulation doesn’t make it feel less real. There are terrible people in this world too, apparently. I wish it weren’t so. I’d prefer to be in a cottage core story where bad things only happen accidentally, not by maliciousness.”

Alastair reflected into the slop. “It’s not fun to stew on.”

“Seriously? Puns now?”

He chuckled a bit. “It wasn’t intentional. {Coward. Intend your puns!} I probably wouldn’t have noticed if you didn’t comment on it.” He fell silent and they continued to eat a bit more.

Horace came over just as Flor finished up. “Why so glum, chaps? Something in your stew?”

Flor rolled her eyes and stood up. “Just heading to mop. You boys have a good chat.”

Horace sat. “How can I help?”

“We…while…this is a strange conversation, so I’m confused how to start,” Alastair said, stuttering through his thoughts. “Alright. We realize this island and the release is a game or a simulation. How do we find out our objective?”

Horace looked at Alastair directly in the eyes without blinking. “I’m not really the man to answer those sorts of questions.”

He didn’t deny it. “Do you know who could? Someone at the university, perhaps?”

“Look, mate. I’m just kinda a persistent entity, but beyond this tavern, my knowledge only extends to what others tell me. If you went out to the university and found someone to tell you what you needed to know about the game, then came back and told me, well, I’d remember it and would be able to pass it on to the next folks who ask, strictly as hearsay, you understand, but also without attribution.”

“So, no one has talked to you about the dynamics or how to proceed? Just that it is indeed a game?”

“That’s the short of it, yeah.”

“Is there someone that might know more? The warden, perhaps?”

“I expect most people attempt to get away from the warden as quickly as possible. Rudolf isn’t necessarily intimidating, but it seems people associate him with unpleasant memories they’d rather leave behind. And he probably doesn’t think about those things, either.”

“So, he’s probably also a persistent memory…No need to answer that. But, maybe another question. I talked with Pocks, one of the oarsmen, and he seems brighter than, say, the pier hands. Are there levels of persistent memories in the game? Like, how do you transition from a…” don’t say ‘drone,’ “…single answer memory to someone as eloquent as you?”

“That’s a funky question. It’s probably something like destiny, or fate, or divine programming. Probably something you could write the people who created this thing and ask them. Or maybe some ham at the university could speculate if you’re willing to consider logical arguments that lead to half-answers. Maybe check with a lady named Sithembile over there. She’s helped out some of my former patrons with getting an education. Well, look at that! Maybe I did help you indeed!”

“Probably more than you realize, Horace. Other than occasionally mopping your kitchen floor, is there anything we can do to help you out?”

Your disposition with Horace has changed from neutral to neutral+.

“Just asking means more than you realize.”