Immersion is breathtaking.

I’d watched enough B&B to know that it was hyper-realistic, but this took realism and blew it out of the water.

All through my childhood I’d watched fantasy movies, but compared to this, those scenes looked like a five-year-old had gone ballistic with a pack of crayons.

To live it, and breathe it, and feel it was something else.

And that was only the home screen.

I didn’t have a class or character yet, but I would soon. For now, I floated around in an invisible ethereal body, marvelling at the setting and doing my best to absorb every detail.

Limestone pillars encrusted the circular arena I’d landed in, each pillar bordering a miniature garden that housed two lecterns. The lecterns held ancient books and scrolls that glowed green when I glided over to them.

The first few were basic. One read ‘Options’ and another asked ‘Help?’, like the tome was as confused as I was. I was sure I’d refer to these later, but for now they didn’t draw my attention for long.

Continuing along, the gardens became more ornate, and I spotted a gardener wearing a straw hat and a grim expression.

“Hello!” I called. “How are you, sir?”

The man stopped and looked at me for a fleeting moment, like I was a passing car that was painted in a peculiar shade. Then he went back to work.

Eventually, I found the lectern I’d been searching for.

‘Character Select’

This choice, this singular moment, would govern my life for the next year.

I was going in blind.

The only inkling I had was that I didn’t want to be a [Swashbuckler] or [Rogue]. They sounded fun, but I’d overheard Mom’s frustrations with how ‘squishy’ her character was. ‘Squishy’ sounded rather pleasant to my ear, but she didn’t like it, so I’d trust her judgement.

I placed my hand on the book and a semi-translucent screen appeared in front of me. On the left was a lengthy list of classes, enough to require a scroll bar. I tapped on a random one, hoping to God that I got to preview the class and that it wouldn’t automatically select it. I could change classes at any time, but I was afraid I’d struggle to get back here.

[Jester]

The Jester is a versatile class, adept in all areas but a specialist in none. Experienced players will use class-specific skills to distract, stun and confuse enemies.

Starting Stats:

* Strength (2)

* Defence (1)

* Vitality (1)

* Affinity (1)

* Restoration (0)

* Endurance (2)

* Agility (3)

I didn’t hate it, but I didn’t love it. It would be a tough first day if I rolled up to my spawnpoint with a floppy hat and bells on my shoulders. People would call me a fool, and it wouldn’t be in reference to my class.

Next!

The options seemed endless, but I worked through the list with eager determination.

I quickly divided the classes into two categories: ‘Solo’, or ‘Group’.

[Jester] was a ‘Group’ class, because it supported other players. [Warrior] was a ‘Solo’ class, because although support was appreciated, you could be a powerhouse on your own.

Whether or not my division was strictly correct, I didn’t have a clue. It was my way of thinning down the crowd, and it worked.

On the fourth page and second hour of class selection, something finally caught my eye. I selected the class, and the right side of the screen displayed a blank figure wearing a mixture of leather and metal armour. It carried a simple spear and shield, with a second, shorter spear crossing its back. There was almost no colour in the entirety of the garb, but it interested me nonetheless.

[Hoplite]

The Hoplite is a hardy, determined fighter who utilises both medium and close ranged weaponry. An experienced player will use class-specific skills to initiate high-damage attacks or produce diverse defensive efforts. Respect the Ancients.

Starting Stats:

* Strength (3)

* Defence (2)

* Vitality (1)

* Affinity (0)

* Restoration (0)

* Endurance (2)

* Agility (2)

I wasn’t absolutely convinced, but I was close. Could I picture myself throwing a spear around? Hacking and slashing weren’t my first choice, but this was more jabbing and stabbing; a happy medium.

My original vision was something technical, like [Mage]. I knew from the Olympics how expansive the class was — two Mages could build their characters so differently that the results were absolutely disparate. There almost needed to be an additional class selection screen for the different types of Mages, just to help new players understand what they were getting themselves into.

But [Hoplite] had something that most other classes did not. It appeared to be both a ‘Solo’ and a ‘Group’ character, like a [Warrior], [Tank] and [Rogue] all smashed into one.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

And what does ‘Respect the Ancients’ mean?

If I stayed here much longer the year would be over and I’d never get the chance to find out. I closed my eyes, channelled some hidden bravery, and clicked Accept.

The floor fell out and I hurtled through space. The world collapsed too, all the flowers gliding around in their weightlessness, bumping into each other as they fluttered down. The pillars fell faster than I did, like gravity had decided to suck them down first. Even the gardener was there, dropping alongside me in the same arched-back position.

In time, all the extras faded into blank nothingness. Only I remained, and I was slowing down.

Crack!

All at once, I smacked into the dirt. I’d hit hard enough that my butt dug a crater in the earth, anchoring me in my spot. I wobbled and heaved and kicked, but I could not free myself.

I looked around, hoping someone would rescue this damsel-in-the-dirt.

Crickets.

Something was lodged underneath me, and I could feel jagged pinpricks under my right thigh. I looked down at my side, finally noticing a spearhead protruding from under my thigh. On my left, the shaft poked out in the same way.

Great start. Already broke my weapon.

A quick push on either side inched me out of my predicament with a suspicious pop. My surrounds were dusty, and barren, but I could see faint signs of civilisation ahead.

I got to my feet and poked both portions of my weapon under my armpit. I had no shield, and my armour resembled the character preview about as well as a dog resembles a baseball.

May as well try some skills.

“[Dash!] [Spear Volley!] [Spear Domination!].”

If ‘Spear Volley’ or ‘Spear Domination’ were real skills, I didn’t have them. You didn’t see many spear-wielders in the Olympics, so I was coming up short on suggestions. I knew all too well that [Dash] was a skill, but again, not one of mine.

Time to hit the road.

I trudged toward a sign in the distance, squinting around me. Out of the millions of players in my cohort, none had landed here. The Fields would be overflowing right now, hundreds of thousands — if not millions — of bright-eyed and fluffy-tailed graduates ready to make their mark on the world of Blade & Battle.

But here I was, standing alone in a wasteland.

The sign, though bedraggled, told me a bit more.

Bill’s Yard – 3 miles.

Travellers welcome!

I would’ve disconnected right then and there, but I didn’t know how. All I knew is that Bill’s Yard was where B&B dreams go to die.

Whereas the Elthen Fields were drummed into us as The Place to Be, Bill’s Yard was ingrained as the opposite. Teachers would advise us against it with as much ferocity as a priest exorcising a promiscuous nun.

Laughing to myself, I pushed on. If I was locked here for a year, I’d at least try to understand what all the fuss was about — or wasn’t about.

About forty minutes later, I came across my first NPC. She was a tall lady in a red headscarf, dragging a spiked metal square through a field. I looked across to where she’d come from — the whole area was trailed with little ruts from the shallow spikes.

“Hello?” I began. I expected about as much interest as I got from the gardener. Maybe less.

“Good morning. Are you passing through?”

Woah. It speaks.

“Not exactly. I think I’m living here. For a year.”

The lady’s face lit up.

“You are?! That’s amazing! Bill will be delighted.”

“Do you know where Bill is?”

“Of course! He’s in his yard.”

Go figure.

I thanked the lady and left her to grate her soil. There were players who could do it for her with a swish of their pinky or a flourish of their enchanted sword, but I guessed they didn’t venture out here much. Veteran players were probably locked out in the same way that us first-years were locked in.

If the lady was so excited by the prospect of one more resident in Bill’s Yard, I couldn’t imagine her glee when she discovered the thousands of new players marauding through the gritty streets. She might just explode once she met all the tourists.

As I approached the township, the first player came into view. I could tell they weren’t an NPC because, like me, they looked as confused as a blind person at a firework show. Additionally, dirt and mud still clung to their pants where they’d struck their spawn point.

“Oi! Over here! Are you new?! It’s good to meet someone!” I yelled.

The player saw me and my broken spear, then stuck up their middle finger.

Pleasant.

After that, I kept to myself. By the time I got to the yard that was actually Bill’s Yard, throngs of people pushed and shoved through the streets. The gathering was so loud that I couldn’t have introduced myself to anyone, even if I had a megaphone.

If the historical stats held true, twenty percent of these players would be gone within the week. Forty after a month. By the end of the year, eighty-five percent would have ditched the Pod in exchange for a real-world job. Like it or not, the new system did what it promised to do.

Nothing could be achieved by standing around and getting my ears blasted. If I stayed here much longer I’d wake up with tinnitus and a raging headache, so I pushed through the masses of characters and made my way to the outskirts of town.

The place wasn’t welcoming, but it didn’t feel dangerous either. It had a Wild-West feel, like the next corner I turned could put me face to face with a bearded cowboy and a six-shooter. That would be referred to as overpowered, I think.

Most of the NPCs sitting on their porch went inside when I walked past. I knew I wasn’t the prettiest sight to see on their morning tea break, but it felt very forced, like there was something I had to do first to unlock the privilege of talking with them.

A hulk of a boy jogged past with a broadsword strapped to his back. He was missing teeth, and his nose was so flat there was no way he could breathe through it. He took a deep breath before calling to me.

“Fuggen loozers, right? Stupid em-pee-sees, I could take ‘em all out if I wanted!”

He passed through, headed for the hills surrounding the Yard. I’d go there another day to see if there were any monsters to be fought, but right now I wanted to explore the town.

A weatherboard pub sat on the corner of the block in front of me. If the NPCs all evacuated as soon as I stepped foot in the door, I decided I’d give up on them for the day.

I pushed open the doors and passed into the gloomy interior. The fickle light that filtered through settled on the glasses and bottles hanging by the far wall, reflecting their kaleidoscope of colour onto the bar. A lone bartender dealt out drinks like playing cards, seemingly pouring multiple tankards of ale or beer at once and splashing liquor into shot glasses. He was the only well-dressed person present, and the patrons watched him work with eager eyes.

No one even noticed as I shuffled over to a table and set down the fragments of my spear. I pulled out a chair and sat down in a huff, unsure what I was doing here. If I had money, I didn’t know how to access it, and no one looked like they’d shout me a freebie.

There was no menu, but a waiter and waitress occasionally delivered food to tables. I say ‘food,’ because I couldn’t be sure what exactly was being served. The contents of one bowl looked like chicken hearts, but then someone shoved their hand in, pulled one out and thumped it on the table, cracking it open to reveal a pearl-like morsel.

I got up and went to the bar. There were no unoccupied stools, but several feet of space at the end of the bench was available for parking, so I stood there and motioned to the bartender.

He made his way over, and I reeled when I noticed how large his head was. And how purple. It’s rude to stare, I know, but he looked inhuman.

Then it dawned on me how he was able to work so fast.

It wasn’t like he poured multiple drinks at a time, he was pouring multiple drinks at a time.

My bartender was an octopus.