Welcome to Project Simulacrum

Hector stopped in front of a huge oak tree after a long, quiet walk that seemed to go forever. It stood like an old guard, its branches forming a thick canopy that blocked out the sky. A number of simple, cut steps heading up were expertly hidden behind the twisted bark. High above, hidden in the thick leaves, Nicolas could just make out the dark silhouette of a wooden building.

Hector climbed the steps with the tranquil ease of a longtime hunter. He stopped on the platform above and stared down at Nicolas. "Come on," he whispered in a quiet voice that was almost lost in the forest's background noise. He reached out his hand. "Let me help you."

Nicolas thought for a long time. The hand that was offered could be a way out, but it could also be a more complicated trap. But he had no choice since Lucas and his men were still a real menace in the forests around them. He took Hector's strong, calloused hand and let him help him up the last few steps.

He thought the inside of the treehouse to be a lot messier than it was. There was only one room, and it was quite simple, yet everything had its place. There was a modest cot pushed up against one wall, across from a small, strong table. There were bundles of preserved herbs and pieces of cured pork hanging from hooks on the wall. This wasn't a transient camp; it was a refuge, the carefully kept home of a guy who had been struggling for his life for a very long time.

Hector pulled Nicolas inside and then made sure to keep the distance between them. "I'm sorry," he muttered, and for the first time, his voice softened. "I had to be careful. Trust is a very uncommon resource in these regions. What is your name, by the way?

"Nicolas."

The man said, "I am Hector," and gave a tiny, polite nod.

Nicolas was finally able to really see the man's face in the weak light that came through a small, closed aperture. It was a face that showed signs of tiredness yet was sharper because of it. And his eyes... When Nicolas looked at Hector, he saw a strange, beautiful mix of deep violet and molten amber that glowed with a delicate, interior light. He had never seen that color on a person before. "You have a strange color in your eyes."

Hector's lips curled into a cruel, humorless smile. "This color is the mark of a Zinox," he remarked, not taking his eyes off of it. "And now you're here. That means you are also a Zinox.

Nicolas's forehead wrinkled in perplexity. "Wait, I really don't get what you mean."

Hector said, "It has been a long time since a 'real' person came here," putting a peculiar, deliberate stress on the word "real."

"Where is 'here' exactly?"

Hector looked at him closely, and a new understanding began to light in his strange eyes. "You really don't know, do you?"

"All I know," Nicolas began, his voice rising with a wave of anger and dread, "is that one minute I was in a deserted game studio. The next thing I knew, I was in shackles in a place I didn't know.

Hector stopped and closed his eyes for a long time, as if he were putting together the parts of a complicated jigsaw in his head. When he opened them again, his countenance was a mask of grim understanding. "That's why no one else ever came," he said quietly, mostly to himself. Then he looked at him. "This is the world of Project Simulacrum, which was built by OldMind, my friend. And somehow, you were able to log in.

Nicolas's face turned pale. That document. The cover has big, red writing on it:

"PROJECT SIMULACRUM – ONLY AUTHORIZED PEOPLE CAN ENTER." That machine in the Core is a sculpture made of chrome and crystal. The bright, all-consuming violet light. "How is that even possible?"

Hector's voice was husky as he said, "OldMind was working on a huge game." He perched on the edge of the cot, and just narrating this story seemed to make his shoulders feel heavy. "Something new that was intended to change the world. A different world. We were picked to be part of a small group that would test it. But something went horribly wrong. And we couldn't leave.

Nicolas fought against the words, and his rational mind screamed in protest. But the bone-deep tiredness in Hector's voice and the fact that there was no theatrics made every word sound like the truth. "How long have you been here?"

"Almost two years."

"Two years?" The number hit Nicolas like a punch in the stomach. "But... someone has to be looking for us. Our families, the business...

A ghost of an old hope crossed Hector's face and then disappeared. "I thought the same thing when I first got here, Nicolas. I thought someone would come to my aid at any time. But as you can see, they never arrived to save you.

"What is going on here?" Nicolas asked, feeling like he couldn't do anything.

Hector said, "I really don't know." "I don't know how it works in detail. But I do know that this world is real, it doesn't forgive mistakes, and if you die here, it's over. There is no respawn. Not for a Zinox, though.

"Are you finally going to tell me what that word means?" Nicolas asked.

Hector added, "The people who live here call us the 'Bright Chosen' because of our eyes." "But the truth is that we are marked this way because we joined the system as participants. The system was supposed to give us special powers that would make us the heroes. They were meant to care about us. But for some reason, every living thing here hates and fears humans. They nickname us "Zinox," which means "the cursed ones." We are the only people who know that this universe is a "game" made by people. Everyone else thinks this is the only real world.

Nicolas held on to the edge of the table, his knuckles white, attempting to understand the unbelievable news. "So, you're saying that we're stuck in a fantasy world where the players are hated and we have to fight to stay alive?"

Hector's face showed real surprise for the first time. "Wow. You get things swiftly. I should have known you were smart because of how quickly you reacted.

Nicolas added, "That wasn't a reflex." The recollection of the struggle was still fresh and unpleasant. "I felt like I could see how they were going to attack before they did."

"That must be the power you were given as a player," Hector said quietly, evidently intrigued. "Even though I've never seen a power like that before."

"What's your strength?"

"Better sight and a sure aim," Hector said, pointing to the bow that was leaning against the wall. Easy to use, effective, and deadly.

Nicolas's mind was already racing, thanks to years of working as a journalist. "Is there a way out?"

"Trust me, I've tried." It looks like this world has no limits. You just find more life and land, even if you go to what you think is the extreme edge.

"What if we find a different Zinox?" Someone else who knows how to play?

"I don't know where to look for such a person, even if they do exist. To stay out of the spotlight, players tend to stay away from each other.

"Listen," Nicolas said, leaning closer. His eyes were now gleaming with a new intensity. "I reviewed the project files before I got here. A "Code Red" report said that the system was stuck in a "recursive corruption loop." That suggests there is a problem. A bug. We might be able to get out of this if we can find someone who knows how to fix it. If not, I don't want to just sit here and wait to die.

Hector stopped and looked at Nicolas like he was seeing something he hadn't seen in years. It was hope based on a real piece of knowledge. "A week ago," he said slowly, "there was a report going around about a Zinox in the southern city. They might know where to find the person you're looking for, even if it's not them.

"Can you take me there?"

Hector got up. The tiredness was still there, but it was now hidden by a new sense of purpose. He responded, "You're in luck," and for the first time, a tiny, determined smile crossed his lips. "I was going there for supplies anyway."