The blank canvass and the black tower came into his vision. The gate too. There were four of them: north, south, east, and west, nearly impossible to see or notice unless a player was highly observant. Or, in the case of the layman, they took a lap around the tower.

“Please!” Dasha barely had a second to himself before a woman’s hands grabbed his collar. “Please! Listen to me! This game isn’t a game! It’s—my party died! We need to stop this! It’s asinine!”

A few players glanced over to him, full of pity. The blonde woman’s eyes were outlined in tears, mascara melting down her cheeks.

“Please! Please!” She tugged on his collar more, her head still buried in his chest. Dasha was a tall man, about six-foot-four, so even though the woman was slightly short of average, in comparison to him it was a vast difference. “Just get me out of here! I don’t wanna be here anymore!”

Rather than shove her aside coldly, he decided to go for a fake sympathetic approach. He patted her head, intentionally avoiding her silky hair, and said, "I'm sorry." His pats slowly turned into massages through her hair. "I get it. I really do. A friend of mine also passed away here. But this world isn't so forgiving. So can you please look up?"

Bleary blue eyes looked up and it all became clear to him.

“What’s your name?” Dasha asked.

“Samantha…”

"You want to grab something to eat, Samantha?" he asked.

"I have no money," she mumbled. “I’m useless.”

"You’re not useless." Dasha gently pushed her back and unveiled her fetching features. A smooth forehead, a slim nose, firm cheeks, and full lips, on top of pretty blonde hair that fell over her shoulders. She was almost hypnotic in how she sniffed and teared up. "I’ll buy.”

“T-thank you!” Samantha pulled him into a hug. “Thank you so much!”

The straight line of his mouth didn’t change, carrying on with his cool, sympathetic facade. “Hold on. Open map.”

He selected the Food Sector and picked the respawn point close to the waste. To his surprise, an additional box was summoned. Something new that caused him to think.

[ Teleport to the spawn point with associate? Yes or no? ]

He accepted, though the implications of it did linger. What could he do with this? Was there a limitation?

His vision terraformed and with Samantha clinging to him arrived to a rotting smell. Immediately, Samantha went waywards and she backed away from him.

“Ignore the smell. There’s a good place over there.” Following his words and gaze was a black, rundown restaurant. Samantha hesitated and did not move until he did.

She caught up to him, her nose twitching from the smell. "O-okay. Sure."

The door opened and a bell rang. Dasha had been once before. It served as a placeholder between those that lurked in the Dark Sector and those that went out. Candles lit up tables and moody faces. Dark cloaks were adorned almost everywhere. Beside him, he could feel Samantha panicking.

He placed himself at a table before she could voice her concerns and, out of social instincts, joined him. Reluctant as she was, Samantha also didn’t know where she was. She needed him.

A waitress arrived, her black hair split at many places and her pupils small. “Order?”

“Err…” Samantha’s eyes flicked over to her male companion. The Game System menu that appeared at the Endless Bar was not here. “What is there to order?”

“This is the Boston Tea Party,” the waitress said, bored and unblinking. “We have everything.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“O-okay, but, um, isn’t there, like…a menu…?” Another pleading look at Dasha again. This time, he relented.

“Oolong tea,” Dasha said.

“Payment?”

No words, merely a wave of his hand as he summoned an item from his inventory. The waitress swiped from the table, judged it, and nodded.

“This will suffice. “

The lack of understanding on Samantha’s part was hilarious, especially as the waitress left. The blonde regarded Dasha, wondering if she made a horrible decision.

“Um…I’m sorry to, uh, complain, but, um, why are we here?”

“Why do you think?” He stared her down. She squirmed in her seat. “Because they serve good tea here.”

“That’s…it?”

“That’s it.”

Aged brick walls adorned with ivy and an odour that wasn't quite bad. People that could only be labelled as suspicious. Comfort was the furthest thing from Samantha’s expression. She didn’t like it here. She wanted to leave.

Dasha wasn’t going to just yet. “Three days, the next gate will open. We should join up.”

“O-oh yeah? Sure! Should I add you as a friend?”

‘How eager,’ Dasha thought.

“Sure.”

“Thank you so much…!” A twisted smile tugged at her lips, full of sorrow and unwanted memories, and she lowered her voice. “I…my party friend died when I…she…” Tears started to slip out and she quickly wiped them. “I just…I hate this…I hate this so much…!”

Her blue eyes were like crystals as she looked up at him.

“Thank you. I-I still don’t know your name, do I?”

He wore a faint imitation of a smile and he could see the enthusiasm in her expression. "It’s Gerard."

***

Shortly after parting ways with Samantha, Dasha messaged Xavier and set a location to meet.

He didn't go to the Dark Sector so much as he stepped in it. He bought the various magical contracts through Xavier, who often wandered the line between the Dark Sector and the Food Sector. A line where garbage and waste was dumped to the sides, stinking up the area with the smell of rotten cheese.

The rendezvous point delved slightly past that, into the zone of the Dark Sector.0 A late night terror walk in the streets of old London guided by street lamps and muddy roads. Scanning the architecture briefly, there was no doubt it was indeed centuries old. The booths served as relics, almost.

The gothic style merged with the shadows and the top-hatted guise of his sponsor. The alleyway smelled of nothing but trash.

“Hello, Xavier.”

"A pleasure to see you still alive...Dasha."

His face was hidden by the tip of his hat. Dasha held some appreciation that he kept to the bit. But the importance of his words was imperceptible even to the speaker. Within the thick transatlantic accent lay a tinge of discord. Uncertainty.

‘I knew it. They’re listening.’

There was a reason Dasha gave a false name to Samantha. He wanted to confirm his suspicions on the true nature of Xavier’s guild—the Whispers of the Carious. At the Endless Bar, he felt like someone was watching him. Even at Li Wei and Zhang Mei’s home, the hairs on his arm stood.

They were watching. Always watching. And to throw them off, he decided to give a false name. He decided to throw confusion onto his identity.

Dasha Pang was his real name, but they didn’t know that, did they?

‘So it was Xavier’s guild that was watching me, the Whispers of the Carious. Why, I wonder? The name implies it could be an information gathering guild.’

Dasha played the ignorance card. "Is it here?"

"It is indeed.” From his pockets emerged a cylindrical silver bright enough to illuminate the shadowy alleyway of the Dark Sector. Though halfway out, Dasha could sense the magic within. “The first ingot of eitr-forged iron. It was not easy to find, friend. I do wish to ask what you will do with it.”

Eitr-forged iron was impossible to create. It was a naturally occurring substance in the Nine Realms of Yggdrasil; the fusion of eitr, the paradoxical life-giving poison, and cold iron. The process took decades and the mixture was incredibly delicate. One mistake, and the iron would cease to be. Collecting it was as great a challenge as finding it. Eitr was dangerous yet life-giving. Dangerous to the touch yet nearly unrivalled as a tool.

Dasha understood the lengths he took to gather it. He understood that Xavier was losing profit with this deal.

“Perhaps after our contract is over.”

“And you believe you will continue to survive the Heavenly Games? That you will continually gain points week after week?” Xavier lifted his hat to reveal a sharp jaw and an angular set of pinpoint silver eyes. The type of eyes that a hunter animal would possess. “A word of advice: humans are not machines. You will break.”

“Is that right? What if I enjoy it?”

“You enjoy fighting? I see.”

“Who do you believe is stronger: someone who fights because they relish in it, or someone who fights because they have to?”

Xavier covered his face with his hat. “In my experience, it is the latter. Love can only get you so far.”

“A fair perspective.” His ears perked up. Someone was listening in. He held out his hand and Xavier swiftly planted the ingot of eitr-forged iron onto his palm. “Until next time then.”

Dasha didn’t leave empty-handed. More than just the ingot was his face and the faces of the people watching him. Besides confirming it was indeed Xavier’s group that was responsible for the spying, he remembered every person at the Boston Tea Party. The waitress, the man at the corner shuffling his deck, the woman with the face tattoo.

His mind connected the faces to a single organization—the Whispers of the Carious. He couldn’t be sure they were all affiliated with them, but in this case, it was guilty till proven innocent. His plan? To rip the masks of every person in the guild and force them to bow to him.