A conversation between Helena A. And Brian A., ages 56 and 87, April 13th 20XX

“Grandpa, are you sure about this?”

“I am.”

“But to retire into this thing? We don’t even know if it’s here to stay!”

“I don’t have much time left but while I’m still living, I want to enjoy myself. Maybe I won’t ever come back.”

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When I opened my eyes, I sucked in a breath. The strange scents overwhelmed me. Light blinded me. A soft mattress cradled me. But I couldn’t move. What was happening? Had leaving the sim always been like this?

After blinking some I realized that I could see a very plain ceiling. It had a simple texture but no adornments or complex patterns. Next, I tried to turn my head but I still couldn’t move. I could hear though and it sounded like water fell from someplace off to the side.

Where was Mia? Shouldn’t she be here to ensure I kept to my oath?

The smells of this place were... strange. Off. It didn’t smell or feel real. Not like the PPVS did. But there was some familiar scent. Like sulfur but subdued and mixed with other aromas. Strawberries? I was definitely in the right place.

With great effort, I managed to get my arm to move. A few minutes later I pushed myself into a sitting position and held it. Sweat beaded on my brow. Real sweat.

I almost laughed. Freedom. Freedom in a different realm, but still freedom.

I stood. This new world of square walls spun but I did get to my feet. When I took a step it felt off, like I was somehow shorter than I was used to.

A bright window, covered by a thin curtain, let in burning light. I had to see this new reality for myself. So I walked, unsteady and with care to the edge of the large glass plane, and peered out. A pool of water? Small bipedal creatures playing in it? No, children. There, that’s the adult. This species looked close to mine if different. A little chubbier, shorter, curvier, and no pointed ears. Slightly different proportions. Imperfect. Very strange and revealing clothing.

But the architectural style was… foreign. Boxy but with some curves. And the air tasted of metal and chemicals. That couldn’t be healthy.

I unconsciously pulled on my magic to try and heal myself but froze when nothing came to me. My eyes bulged. Was there no magic here? No, there was some, but very little. Enough to survive on. Perhaps recently produced by the PPVS?

A door opened behind me and steam vacated the room followed by a young woman dressed in a simple black cotton shirt and worn but thick blue pants. What kind of odd fabric was that?

Her face had a heart shape with large blue eyes and her long wet hair looked black. Pale skin shined with after shower moisture. Compared to her very thin avatar, she had ample curves. She looked nothing like the woman from the simulation, which made sense since most players preferred to have different appearances. But I knew her. I could feel her with my soul.

“Holy shit! Lore? It took you long enough,” she said and I understood her. The Passivity Precept probably uploaded the local language into my mind.

Suddenly, I realized that while I was free, that also meant that I wasn’t Lore, the Bard with a 26 Charisma. I was now just, Lorevinel Silvercat. An elven man returned from the dead. But what should I do? What did people even do in real life? And in this world in particular?

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Unable to come up with anything, I fell back on the traditions my people used while not in the sim. I bowed. For a moment and I tried to remember the words. I couldn’t say anything. Fortunately, I didn’t have to just yet.

“You... How old are you?” Her pale cheeks reddened.

That, I could answer. “Twenty-one, at least.”

“Huh,” she said but didn’t continue. What was that about? I noticed the mirror next to her so I carefully walked over to it and she moved out of the way. When I saw myself I froze.

“So,” she said, “What did you want to do in my world anyway?”

I did not answer her question, because, at the moment, it took second-place to reality. The reason why I stood shorter was likely the same reason why I always saw black boxes even when people willingly showed me their assets. It was why I couldn’t have sex even if I wanted to — though I thought that had been a product of the prisoner’s collar. And it was why the PPVS didn’t release me despite it being 3 years since my majority... I hadn’t aged. So that I didn’t slam my head against the mirror in frustration, I slapped my hand over my eyes and breathed in. And breathed in some more.

“Lore? Are you okay?”

“Yes. Perfectly fine, thank you for asking.” I was not fine.

“Come on.” She grabbed my hand and led me to the bed. I sat down. She walked over to a tiny desk and pulled it over. It had a strange flat object on it. She grabbed and lifted a part of it to show a glowing screen. It looked like magic but when I touched it, I felt none coming from it. She slapped my hand away.

“Don’t touch. It’s not a touch screen. Here, you like music right?”

I nodded numbly. How... How many years would I have to experience before the PPVS recognized me as an adult? Horror struck me. If I hadn’t met Mia, would I only ever have been considered an adolescent within the PPVS?

“This is one of my favorites. It’s called, ‘While My Guitar Gently Weeps’ by my world’s most famous band, The Beatles.”

The music played and I almost tuned it out. I did tune it out. How could some foreign music help me when I was having a mental break down? But then I heard a simple phrase about having been bought and then sold. It struck me.

And then I listened, really listened. The strange instruments played music, and oh, I understood music. I lived music because it kept me sane in my darkest moments. And this song — this song too — though the lyrics didn’t make a lot of sense to me, it expressed exactly what I felt at that moment, even my sense of unreality, just from the sound alone.

And then the song ended. My mouth had turned dry. “I request — please play it again.”

“Sure.” And she did.

And when I had memorized everything about it that I could, I said, “The Passivity Precept was kind enough to gift me with your language, so I understand that a guitar is an instrument but... would you kindly explain to me more about it?”

She sent me a weird look. “It looks like this.”

She pulled up a picture of the instrument. It looked very familiar, but different as well. I wanted one, but later.

“And it sounds like this.” She pulled up a video of someone playing the same song but only on the guitar. “Unless it’s electric, in which case it sounds like this.” She pulled up another video of the same song, this time played on a thinner version. The different sound had my heart pumping.

“Interesting,” I barely replied. “Thank you for showing me this.”

“Are you okay? Because you’re talking super formally.”

“I’m not inside the PPVS.”

“Yeah.”

“So that means I should speak properly.”

“Um. Maybe where you come from... and I guess in some places here, but in America, where I’m from, we treat people with respect but we don’t need to be so formal unless it’s a formal occasion.”

“That makes sense.” And I should have figured it out from how she'd been speaking to me this whole time, but to be fair, I wasn't in the right state of mind to give a damn.

“Yeah. It’s pretty nice.”

She put her hand on my shoulder and I tensed. Her warm hand immediately left my shoulder. “Just relax.”

I nodded and realized that I needed to get back into the PPVS. Everything here. It was too much. But first I had to do what I came here for. I laid on her bed.

“I’ll be right back... probably.” It took me a second to remember. Right, I needed to use my index and middle finger to swipe from left to right. Then I looked at the options. My finger hovered over the Create Your Character option. This was it. What I wanted to do for so long but didn’t have the ability.

I pressed it. And I fell.