The Thing Made of Rust and Steam

The forest floor was painted in a dynamic mosaic of deep shade and delicate gold as the first rays of sunlight seeped through the thick canopy of the enormous trees. The air was damp and cold; the deep, earthy smell of decomposing leaves and damp soil had been evoked by the previous night's dew. Hector walked with a peaceful assurance, his footsteps so quiet that he appeared to be a part of the breathing beat of the woodland. But Nicolas found it difficult to follow, his nerves raw and torn from the metropolis. He was startled by every twig crack and every sudden bird cry, which brought back the vivid memories of the ambush the night before.

They strolled in quiet for a while before Nicolas's query, which had been nagging at the back of his mind, became uncontrollable.

"You mentioned death last night," he said, his voice almost audible above a whisper. That we truly die if we pass away here. How do you know for sure?

Hector didn't falter, but it was evident from the small stiffening of his shoulders that he was troubled by the inquiry. He stated, "Because I've witnessed it firsthand," in a flat, emotionless voice. It was the deep silence that follows a wound that has long since healed, not the void of apathy.

"It was in the first few months," he added, keeping his eyes on the way forward. "Back when we thought the engineers would turn off the power and wake us awake, we thought this was just a glitch. Leo, a small child, was with us. He was courageous but careless. We encountered several bandits. He had faith in the abilities we were given as footballers. When players 'died,' the old system's theory went, their bodies would just evaporate into shimmering pixels and they would just return to the real world. Everyone thought it was true.

As if revisiting the memories on the back of his eyelids, Hector pulled aside a low-hanging branch. We all waited for that burst of light once Leo fell. However, it never materialized. His body simply fell apart. On the woodland floor, a dead pile of flesh. There was nothing in his gaze. As it would in our world, his blood seeped into the earth. We heard this awful cry at that same moment. It was a digital cry of pain that seemed to originate from the system itself rather than any of us. Every pain, scrape, and illness felt more genuine after that day. At that point, we realized that something had gone terribly, seriously wrong. This was no longer a game. Our new and final reality was this.

Nicolas gulped hard, the sight Hector had described coming vividly to life in his memory. The secure boundaries of a simulation were far off from this world. It was an electronic jail.

"And you?" Seemingly eager to shift the topic, Hector inquired. "What brought you here? I don't think you're the kind of person that gets really excited about video games.

Nicolas's lips formed a sour smirk. "I work as a journalist. Let's just say that my curiosity got the better of me.

Hector didn't ask for specifics, but he appeared to realize that there was a much deeper narrative hidden beneath his curt response. Everybody in these places had a past, and most of them had excellent reason to hide it.

Then he froze. In a single, automatic motion, his hand went to the bow's grasp on his back. His whole body froze.

"Wait," he growled, staring at the muddy ground in front of him.

Nicolas looked in his direction. He initially saw nothing, but as he concentrated, he spotted them: odd, symmetrical, deep impressions in the ground that had nothing to do with animal traces. They were the hefty metal's gouge, jagged lines ripping into the ground.

Hector continued, "These tracks are a bad sign," his voice freezing. "We need to find cover, now..."

However, he was never given the opportunity to complete his sentence.

From the depths of the woodland came a sound so strange that it cut like a knife through the surrounding natural atmosphere. The sound was not the scrape of metal on metal, but rather the discordant hum of dozens of corroded machinery operating in a chaotic, erratic pattern. From the shadows between the trees, something exploded, speeding in their direction.

The breath caught in Nicolas's throat. It wasn't animal or human. It was a humanoid-looking machine, standing close to seven feet tall, but it was all mechanical. Its legs were heavy iron bars bolted together, its arms were rusted scythes, and its body looked like it was built from the chassis of an ancient carriage. Instead of a head, there was a single, big, red-glowing lens that looked around it with the ruthless eyes of a predator. Its hefty footsteps kicked up clouds of dry leaves, and steam hissed from numerous joints on its body. Something that had no right to exist, a horror contraption made from the remains of a bygone era, and it was traveling at a horrifying rate.

"Get down!" Hector let out a shout.

Nicolas threw himself sideways as the machine blinked through the area where he had been standing, a whirlpool of steam and metal, his body reacting before his brain could register the command. With a savage buzz, its rusting scythe-arm cut through the air.

Hector's bow was already pulled. He let off an arrow that, although it might as well have been a mosquito bite, hit the machine's wooden midsection with a firm thunk. The red-lens of the mechanical monster turned to stare at Hector. It hesitated for a second, then hurled itself at him with amazing speed.

Desperately, Hector rolled sideways to avoid the scythe, which narrowly missed him. His words were, "It's no use!" "The armor is too thick!"

Without hesitation, the machine launched another strike. Though its motions were sluggish and spastic, like to a marionette experiencing a seizure, each twitch brought it deadly close to its target. The now-familiar vision flashed through Nicolas's thoughts as he clambered to his feet: the machine's left arm was poised to swing in a broad, beheading arc at him.

The scythe blade whistled inches from his face as he staggered backward and fell hard.

"Nicolas, run!" Hector yelled. He aimed another arrow toward an unprotected joint in the machine's leg, hoping to divert its attention. With a high-pitched shriek of protesting metal, the machine halted as the arrow struck its mark. But just for a second.

The damage-dealing Hector had now been recognized by the system as the main danger. It turned, ignoring Nicolas entirely, and charged at the archer with all of its rage.

"We have to split up!" Backpedaling already, Hector screamed. "Come see me at the southern bridge! "Go!"

Nicolas paused, feeling as though his feet were stuck in place. He couldn't simply leave him. However, Hector's expression was unwavering: they would both perish if they remained together.

He turned and fled with a resonant, deep thudding against his ribs. He concentrated solely on speed, ignoring the pain in his lungs and the branches whipping his face. He heard that terrible, grinding, mechanical hum behind him, along with another cry from Hector and the agonizing crash of metal hitting wood. And then, slowly, the forest's mass absorbed the sounds.

He was by himself. Running in an unknown direction, into the wilderness, away from a creature he could not understand.