The City That Hates Us

As the forest's deep, primordial calm gave way to the harsh geometry of a man-made frontier, it began to fracture at the margins. At first glance, the building that rose before them looked like a prison as the trees grew thinner. A desperate barricade that appeared to be more of a gloomy delineation dividing the world within from the barbaric world outside, the high, moss-eaten masonry walls were topped with rusting barbed wire. A hastily painted warning, the hue of dried blood from a recent massacre, was scrawled on the city's enormous wooden gate:

"ZINOX IS NOT ALLOWED."

The weight of the previous several days gathered into a single, hefty point in Nicolas's chest as he gazed at the words' underlying, visceral hatred. He whispered wearily, breaking the silence. With his gaze locked on the disgusting script, he stated, "I don't know which is worse: the fact that the 'NPCs' in this world were once real, living people or the fact that they hate us so much."

Katrina's voice was as sharp as flint as she said, "Just concentrate on not standing out." Her eyes were focused on the guard towers on either side of the entrance rather than the gate itself. She was searching for the threat in the individuals who were hired to enforce the words, not in the words themselves.

Nicolas's anxiousness increased as he turned his focus to where Katrina was staring. At the city's entrance, armored guards carefully stopped each person who came for a quick, rough interrogation before letting them in. With a knot in his stomach, he whispered, "There's a checkpoint ahead." "And I don't think it would be lucky to be caught with these eyes."

"You're correct," Katrina said. Her eyes glinted with a steely resolution as she turned to face Nicolas. "Remain here and don't budge." Katrina's form glowed and vanished into a watery distortion of the air behind her before he could even comprehend the command. Then, in the next instant, she was just gone.

Nicolas flattened himself against a tree trunk and waited, pulling the hood of his cloak low to completely obscure his eyes. But it didn't take long for one of the guards to notice his still form. The man's harsh, booming voice shattered the atmosphere like a whip. "Hey! Over there, you! Come on out and introduce yourself!

Unconsciously, Nicolas's fingers clenched the rough fabric of his cloak as his heart pounded against his ribs. He took one, then two heavy steps toward them, keeping his head down. The guards were obviously worried by his hesitant, delayed movement. They were about to level their spears and charge him when a series of muffled cries and the definite sound of a fight broke out from inside the city walls. Inside, something had started. The guards looked at each other in confusion, and then one of them said, "They've started up again in there!" They had been totally distracted. The two men spun around and rushed through the gate to see what was making the noise.

Katrina appeared at his side at the same time. "We have an opening," she muttered. "Leave now."

They easily slipped past the inattentive guards and blended into the busy, chaotic streets of the city.

Its interior, brimming with a bright, uncontrolled vitality, stood in sharp contrast to the aggression of its appearance. In one corner, a musician enticed a lively tune from an accordion, merchants peddled their wares from packed stalls, and people darted along tiny cobblestone streets. The surrounding architecture, however, was what really astounded Nicolas. A building with an elaborate exterior that appeared to have been lifted from the Renaissance was pressed up against a Gothic edifice with lofty, pointed arches. Everything appeared to have been lifted from a different century, even the people's attire and the style of the horse-drawn carriages used for transportation. The 14th, 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries appeared to have been combined on a painter's pallet.

"How is this even possible?" Nicolas whispered the question. "It appears as though several timelines are overlapping."

“Because they are,” Katrina said, slicing through the crowd. "This planet's inhabitants—the NPCs who were once humans—have constructed their reality based on the memories embedded in their minds because it was created with such a high degree of realism. Only the fundamental knowledge and the will to create a civilization were given to them by the game. Like in the actual world, their collective awareness shaped the remainder.

With his thoughts still focused on the threat at the gate, Nicolas observed, "You could have just made me invisible and walked us right in."

"When one of the two is a Zinox, I can't keep them invisible for very long. It saps my vitality,” Katrina answered. In addition, I wanted to keep it for a last-minute situation. This was more successful. We can do what we came here to do while the city guards are occupied with that market dispute.

They soon found themselves at a restaurant that resembled a tavern, with the perfume of freshly made bread and warm, flavorful beef stew filling the air. In a corner, out of sight, they discovered a lonely table.

"What brings us here?" Nicolas enquired.

Katrina remarked plainly, "I know you're hungry." "So, have some food."

Nicolas became aware of how hungry he was as a chunk of warm bread and a hot bowl of stew were set out on the table. With an almost savage eagerness, he threw himself into it. The cuisine had never tasted so good, so authentic, even if this wasn't the actual world. He briefly forgot about all the mayhem.

He gave in to his curiosity halfway through his lunch. "So, what motivated you to play the game?"

With the force like a slab of ice, the query fell upon the table. Katrina's expression lost all traces of friendliness. Her eyes turned into chilly pools of emptiness, and the steely undertone in her voice took the place of the friendliness. "That isn't your concern."

"I simply wanted to inquire."

Katrina responded, "Don't ask it again," with a deep, slow voice that emphasized every word. "Or I'll injure you."

The threat was followed by a thick hush on their table. After a little while, the door of the tavern creaked open, and a big man dressed all in black entered, his face hidden by the dark shade of his hood. When Katrina noticed him, she leaned in Nicolas' direction. "That guy is ours," she muttered. "He's here, as he is every Wednesday."

The big man sat down in a dark corner, away from the other customers, and asked the waitress for only a bowl of soup. Katrina gave Nicolas a sidelong glance and motioned for him to follow.

They both got up and walked over to the man's table. Katrina sat down in the chair across from him without even thinking twice. Nicolas did the same. Slowly and deliberately, the man raised his head to gaze at his unexpected visitors. Katrina didn't waste time.

"Fat Bruno," she uttered in a clear, businesslike voice. "There is something we need to discuss with you."