Ragen had found his training finished in underwhelming fashion. After an hour of learning safety techniques for falling, rolling and fighting, which amounted to him being beaten with a stick for twenty minutes, he was guided to step through a door into the “real” world. He fell through darkness and then a blinding light grew below him. All of a sudden he was standing in a dingy backstreet, broken crates and soiled food and scurrying rats around him.

He crept out and onto a main street, wood and stone buildings casting dark shadows over him. Ragen had no idea where he should go, or what he should do. Other games had accessible guides and quest lists, The Law of War did not. He was on his own.

Down the main street to his right were market stalls with a healthy number of customers, other players. On his left were a large number of buildings with swinging wooden signs and happy players coming and going, singing and laughing and shouting. It was obvious that this was the tavern district. Ragen felt far too young to be visiting here... Then again, this was only a game, no one could stop him.

He made off to the left, hoping to see what-was-what with other players. See what they spoke about, see what they were all about. Maybe make a quick friend to help him start the game proper. He managed ten foot of walking before a thick wooden door opened on his left. Two muscular men, one wearing blue and another topless, marched out with a crowd behind them. They were all shouting.

'Get 'em, kick his head in!' One man laughed.

'You can do it Simon, and then drinks are on me!' Another shouted.

'Drinks are on him after he hands over my winnings!' The topless man claimed of the other.

Other men from other taverns had heard the commotion. They began to appear on the street, surrounding the two who meant to fight, creating a makeshift boxing ring. The opponents faced off, hands raised in a guard, heads held low behind their fists. 'Have at it!' A voice called out, and then the fists came flying.

Ragen was caught in the crowd, crushed between two men who stood tall above him. They seemed to hardly notice his presence. He tried pushing against them, to loosen the space around him, but his effort was no good, he was forced to wait and watch until the match ended.

The man in blue wildly swung at the other who ducked under and struck with a gnarled fist to the stomach. Blue, as Ragen had dubbed him, hunched over with the hit, his head coming forward to smash Topless in the nose. It was accidental, but worked. Topless covered his face with his hands, Blue held his stomach. Ragen knew from his brief training session that pain did not quite exist here, instead it was a dull pressure that was enough to let a player know that they were injured. As well as that, a red glowing mark would appear on the damaged area of the body.

There was a lot more going on that Ragen did not understand: simulated cramping, debilitation, actual bodily harm that hindered a person until healed. It was a complex system that simulated real life harm and battle damage, but somehow in tolerable manner to the people playing. Pain was real - yet not real. And despite the “pain”, the two men before him were still willing to fight.

The man in blue recovered first while the topless man's hands were still covering his nose. Blue's foot came up and took the other between the legs, whose hands left his face and clutched at his groin. Blue charged forward again, using his head once more to smash his opponent. The other tried to dodge, but the head-butt connected with his collarbone instead of his face. It did the job. The topless man fell to the ground, his muscles twitching in pain, and Blue put in one last kick to his chest. The crowd who had not been so quiet erupted in an even louder cheer.

Ragen was in shock. Despite his experience in other games, he had never seen violence like that ever in his life. Where was the gamification? This was too real. He turned around to escape the crowd, pushing past them as much as he could. Luckily they had already began to disperse, leaving the clean up job to the friends of each fighter. Ragen ran back to the dark backstreet that he had spawned in, ducked in and crouched against a crate. He was well shaken.

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It took ten minutes to overcome the images of a man taking a beating before he left the dank alley, entering the main street again. Ragen turned toward the market this time, weary. He looked over the different stalls, but hardly took in what he was seeing. His previous shock was still fresh. When he realised this, he shook himself out of it and reminded himself that it was only a game and he had a goal to achieve. How he was going to do that, he did not know. Maybe others would.

People had been passing him by, players and Non-Player-Characters alike. There were burly Soldiers with swords on their hips or spears and bows in their hands. He saw lean Scrapper types, boxers and street fighters. There were steel armoured Knights and leather clad warriors whose Job Classes were not obvious to him. There were civilian NPCs, adults mostly. Children of Ragen's size too, and smaller, running around their legs, laughing and playing.

Ragen approached one Spear-man who walked within the shadow of a wood and stone building that appeared common for the city, but before his mouth opened the man marched on past. He turned to another, a woman with leather armour over a blue cotton uniform. 'Excuse me!' She ignored him. 'Excuse me!' He asked another, who caught his eye but turned away.

No one would regard him with even a greeting. It was odd, and annoying. Why would people ignore him so readily? He shook his head and walked on down the street, this time deciding to speak to an NPC.

Ragen approached a stall placed in front of a tall, but narrow, grey stone building, perhaps some sort of warehouse. Placed on a wooden table were piles of clothing, cotton and silk and some materials Ragen did not recognise. A cream coloured canopy flapped in the breeze above, protecting the wares from the elements.

'Hullo there, may I help you?' A round gentleman asked from behind the stall, the storekeeper. A smile across his face.

'Hi, I'm... Sorry, I'm not buying, I just need-'

'Get lost then!' The store-keep interrupted, his expression changing. 'I have money to make!'

Ragen moved on. He found similar reactions from other store owners. He considered interacting with regular civilians, but found himself feeling weary of them too. This world was feeling hostile to him. Maybe logging out would be best for now, he thought. He could not see how the game was any fun. Like any media, film, literature or game, the viewer, reader or player should be hooked from the start, but not here. Ragen was flying blind and had found no hook, no fun interaction to keep his interest. Perhaps I should have tried the Easy training...

As his introduction to the game had taught him, he looked to the ever present white bar in the top left of his periphery. When his eyes met it, a white screen appeared in front of him. This was similar to other immersion games, a screen only visible to himself. However it held little information compared to other games: health gauge, stamina gauge and magic gauge only. That was all, besides game options, like the Exit World button.

Ragen's eyes hovered over the button, ready to accept the end of his gaming session, up until a face beyond the screen took his interest.

A blond haired man regarded him with curiosity. Ragen looked back, mirroring the other player's expression. The man moved away from the stone wall he was leaning against and waved a quick goodbye to a bunch of Soldiers he was talking with. They hardly paid him any mind as he strode away.

Ragen had a lump in his throat and a tight feeling in his gut. Pictures of the brawl he had seen entered his mind as the man approached him from down the street. He had a feeling that something bad was going to happen. So he ran. All thought of logging out of the game left him, his instincts took over instead, reacting to the realistic world and perceived danger.

Sprinting past players and NPCs, past slum like inns and dingy bars and shops, past weapon smiths and armourers with hot metal clanging, Ragen ended up at a dead end. A thick and high wooden fence in the middle of a dirty alleyway, two stone buildings boxing him in, with no doors to enter, only widows up on high. He had nowhere left to run. Quick and heavy footsteps came from beyond the entry.

I have to... He thought for a second. Climb the fence? Too high. Fight? No chance. Scream? Too scared... He looked around for some hope, but there was nothing. Then in the corner of his eye he saw the white bar again, and remembered that it was only a game. He should not have panicked or have run away in the first place, he should have just logged out. So that's what he did.

Whoever was chasing him would turn in to the alleyway and find only a lonely wooden fence, and the smell of fear lingering in the air. If that was even possible.