4. F.A.Q.

“Any questions?”

For the next few minutes, Grayson fielded a barrage of different questions.

“Is there a way for us to go home?”

“Not right now. But that’s not to say there’s isn’t a way that hasn’t been found yet. You may be the one who discovers it.”

“You said there were others before us. Where are they? Can we talk to them?”

“They’ve all moved on, mostly to one of the big cities. If you meet one of them, I’m sure they’ll be happy to talk to you.”

“Is this a game?”

“No. I assure you this is not a game.”

“Can we die?”

“Yes.”

“If we die, can we come back to life?”

Grayson pulled a face. “Well, there are healers who can treat severe injuries, but once you’re dead, you’re dead, as far as I know.”

“Are you sure this isn’t a game?”

“I’m very sure.”

“Does magic exist here?”

“Yes.” This sent a buzz around the room as people got excited. “But it’s very rare, and people who can actually put it to good use are even rarer. Most blow off their own hands the first time they try it.”

“What about dragons? Do they exist?”

“I’ve never seen one myself, but there are those who claim to have encountered them.”

“This is definitely a game, isn’t it?”

Grayson put his hand on his hips and looked directly at me. “For the last time, this isn’t a game. Please stop asking that.”

After that, most of the questions got the same sort of answers — I don’t know. You’ll have to figure that out for yourself. I’m not sure — until they petered out and we sat there staring at him.

“Is that it?” said Grayson. “All right, then. Next thing we need to do is get you some clothes. You can’t walk around looking like that!”

Grayson bent down and dragged out the boxes next to the desk. There were four of them, and they were each overflowing with shirts and trousers. 

“These aren’t particularly stylish, but they will do until you can buy something more to your liking. Take whatever fits, it’s all free.”

People started walking over to have a rummage. I noticed another couple of boxes by the wall which had footwear in them. While a crowd formed around the clothes, I made for the shoes. The walk to town had been a painful one, and finding a pair of shoes that fit seemed much more important than a matching top and bottom ensemble.

Maurice peered over my shoulder as I tried to find something that looked sturdy. They were all old and used, mostly sandals and cloth slippers, but I dug out a pair of strappy boots that covered my foot and ankle. Not the greatest fit, but they didn’t fall off. Maurice grabbed sandals with one clasp broken.

By the time we got to have a look in the clothing boxes, the only things left looked more like rags. The others had put on their new gear, and none of it looked ready for the catwalk. The material was coarse, and everything leaned towards baggy.

The shirt I decided on was a sack with holes for head and arms. It had a slash across the stomach with red-brown stains around it. The bottom of the trousers hung around my calves, and the waist was many sizes too big. But the material was thick, and some string would sort out the waist. Until then I’d have to hold it up with my hands. Looking at the stuff in the boxes, I got the impression these had all come from our predecessors who had met with sticky ends. Pretty much everyone’s clothes had rips and stains. I tried not to think about it.

Maurice’s Batman onesie was better than anything in the boxes, so he didn’t bother taking anything, but while I was trying on stuff, he went over to speak to Grayson. After a brief discussion, Grayson opened a drawer in his desk and extracted a handful of spectacles, which Maurice tried until a pair seemed to work for him. They had thick black frames and some kind of wrapping on the middle bit where they were obviously broken.

Less than a day and Maurice had already levelled up from nerd to dork. If there was an uber-geek achievement to be won, he was well on his way to claiming it.

We retook our seats, looking like refugees from an Oxfam shop. Captain Grayson once again sat on the edge of his desk.

“Any more questions?”

No one said anything. Probably not because they didn’t have questions, more likely because people had had enough. Nothing made sense, and the only question that really mattered had already been answered with a big fat no. We couldn’t go home.

“My men are preparing food for you, but we weren’t expecting so many, so it will take a little time. What I suggest you do is get into small groups of three or four and go have a look around town. It’s a small place that was originally built to help visitors like yourself. The people are quite friendly, but bear in mind they all carry weapons, so be polite and don’t start trouble. You might get a better idea of what to expect once you’ve seen a bit more. We’ll ring a bell when the food’s ready.”

People slowly got up and started forming groups. I remained seated and moved my hands in front of me playing imaginary whack-a-mole, trying to feel for any kind of interaction. I couldn’t shake the idea this had to be a game. If I could just access the status screen, maybe I’d be able to work out what I needed to do to level up.

“What are you doing?” asked Maurice.

“I’m looking for a way to access the user interface.” I continued to pat the air.

“You really think this is a game?”

“Yep.” I had no doubt, even though I had yet to find any actual evidence.

Maurice looked around, still squinting even though he had glasses now. “I don’t think the technology exists for this level of immersion.”

“I didn’t think ogres existed either,” I said.

“Fair point. Looks like everyone’s leaving.”

Having no luck with clicking on anything, I decided I should probably go have a look around town. The only people left in the room were a red-faced guy who had his arms folded and was staring at the ceiling for some reason, and two girls sat next to each other. One girl was a little plump with a round face that made her look fatter than she was. The other was very skinny and almost good-looking if it wasn’t for her huge nose.

Quick sidebar: It may seem like I’m a sexist twat who only sees women in terms of their looks, but I don’t think I treat women like they’re inferior. I notice what I notice. I’m not going to pretend I’m some New Age moron who sees all life as part of the same beautiful tapestry. The first thing I noticed about Maurice was that he’s black — and that’s despite him wearing a Batman onesie. Does that make me racist? I think it means my eyes work. Feel free to judge me how you want.

I headed for the door and the girl with the big nose stood up.

“Don’t you think we should form a group?” It came across as more accusation than question.

Damn, I’d almost made it to the door. I stopped and turned around. “Er, are you talking to me?”

“I get it, all right?” She seemed angry. At me in particular. “We’re the ones nobody wants to hang out with. The losers. More reason we should stick together. Or are you just another bastard willing to leave two girls alone in this FUCKING SHITHOLE!”

The blast at the end had me leaning back. I don’t really know how to handle angry girls, which is strange because my mother was like that for most of my childhood, so you’d think I’d be used to it.

Then again, maybe that’s why it unnerves me so much. If you get angry back, they turn up the volume, no bass, all treble. If you try to speak gently, they get mad because you aren’t taking them seriously. Back in the 1950s, you could slap a screaming woman and she’d thank you for calming her down. Try that these days and you might get a slightly different response.

“I don’t know what you’re so pissed at me for, I don’t think you’re a loser. If I don’t seem sociable it’s just because I find it difficult to talk to people, especially in big groups. I’m going to look around. If you want to come, nobody’s stopping you.”

I walked out the door with Maurice and the two girls falling in behind. Ceiling-staring guy got up and shuffled after us. Was this really my party? I had to ditch these losers as soon as possible.