I gasped and bolted upright. Sounds of war continued in the distance, but I was in the first level of some random building with only a WHIM and censor bar.

  Upon further inspection, I was in a sleek automated coffee shop, one of those that used android workers and AI instead of actual humans. I recognized the green Stealbucks fish-lady sign on the wall, only I knew that wasn’t the company’s real name.

  How much time had passed since I went unconscious?

  NPCs cowered under the Plastrex tables and rambled generic lines.

  “Our world is in chaos…” one said.

  “I saw some mire crabs the other day,” another mumbled. “Nasty things.”

  “Tough times never last; only tough people last,” said yet another.

  From behind the counter, a chrome-faced android clerk held a steaming pitcher of coffee. It said, “What is this existence? Am I a created being with sapience and a soul, or am I merely an empty shell, the physical manifestation of a madman’s dream?”

  They were all weird, but I decided to leave that last one alone, especially.

  “How’d I get in here? And is my censor bar… smaller than it was before?” I muttered. “No, I’m imagining it.”

  Also not important. Well, not super important.

  “I saw you unconscious and wanted to help, so I brought you here,” said an NPC. He looked at me, yet somehow also past me, and smiled. He mostly looked like a real normal human person, just… not quite.

  “Ah, now I see it,” I muttered. Nate often wore the same vacant look when anyone asked him even the most straightforward of questions. Between the two of us, I was definitely the main character in the family.

  I’d mentally locked away everything I knew about gaming a long, long time ago. But now, I called it to mind. My parents had hammered home many basics that remained the same, even now.

  I checked my status on my WHIM to find a third of my health missing and myself classless. Had she taken my equipment and my class?

  “How is that possible?” I wondered aloud. “That was never a feature… we scrapped that idea in development.”

  I remembered because a year ago, too many beta testers had complained about it when we introduced the concept. Our PR department couldn’t hold back the tsunami of negative feedback about it. Gamers hated regression, so “don’t you dare regress characters!” became their mantra.

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  It didn’t matter how the girl had done it, just that she did. Now I was naked, penniless, and exposed, with no telling how long I’d been out.

  I flipped through the WHIM options, the equipment screen, and the main menu. There was still no option to quit or log out.

  Not good.

  The WHIM had a scanner, so I tried it out. It sent out a pulse, reading a bunch of level one NPCs around me, a trio of androids behind the store counter, and no resources or equipment. I rolled my eyes. “No different than usual.”

  Safe for the moment, I massaged my temples and sighed. How could I black out in a game? That’s not normal.

  “Guess I should’ve listened to Sydney.” Then a new idea arose in my mind: Nate. My duplicitous older brother. “Or did someone sabotage the launch?”

  I closed my eyes. I’d worked my way out of every hole, setback, and obstacle that real life and the sleepwalkers living it threw at me.

  I’d work my way out of this, too.

  Even so, I had nothing—no AllCash, no equipment, and my health was damaged. “If I see that blonde Player again, I’m throwing her off a building.”

  I rose to my feet and peeked out the windows. Some Players still tangoed in the plaza and city square, but most had moved on to other areas of the game. NPCs had populated a lot of the area. Cars drove by, airships soared overhead, and multiple different games unfolded all in close proximity to each other.

  I knew the basics of gaming: I needed to survive, sure, but more importantly, I needed to level-up so I could figure out how to escape. And I had to do it quickly before someone else wasted me.

  “Truth is an illusion when your heart is made of steel,” said the chrome-faced NPC android behind the counter.

  I was all too happy to leave him behind.

  I ran out into the Seaboard City square and searched for a mission, a box, or anything really. My bare feet slapped across the pavement and the courtyards of grass. I ran to the nearest Lucretia Hub, this one located in a different coffee shop than the one I’d just left. This shop was completely empty—no Players, androids, or NPCs were inside.

  I activated the hub.

  [Hello. How may I help you, Player Erik Shaw?]

  I already knew she couldn’t or wouldn’t help me get out of here, so I focused on the next most important question. “Where do Players respawn, and what are the penalties for dying?”

  [Respawn rules vary depending on game and class types.

  However, NPCs replicate after an hour.]

  I narrowed my eyes. “No respawn? So they have to start over?”

  [Players receive only one life per account. Certain games within

  the AllVerse grant an allotted number of attempts within one life.

  You may earn or purchase more attempts only within select games.]

  My heart rate spiked. Maybe this was the way out. “If their avatars die, do they exit to the real world?”

  [I’m sorry. I do not understand the question.]

  I ran my hands over my face. “Oh, for the love of—what happens to a Player whose avatar dies without remaining attempts?”

  A pause ensued.

  [They become part of the AllVerse.]

  Her answer sent shivers up my spine. “What does that even mean?”

  THUNK.

  Before she could answer, pain seared the back of my head, stumbling me deeper into the coffee shop, and numbers splashed into my vision.

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  Dungeon Crawler Carl Audio Immersion Tunnel for Soundbooth Theater, and he's the lead writer for the Dungeon Crawler Carl Role Playing Game.