Sparrows sang good morning for Rowan as a tight silky sensation around his little finger hauled him out of a dreamless slumber. A yawn ballooned his mouth. He cranked opened his eyelids to the sight of Gabrielle sitting against the padded headboard. She fastened a red string, tying her finger to his.

This was, without a shred of doubt, a weird false awakening. He rubbed his eye with his free hand, and pinched his face. A spot of warm pain radiated from his cheek, but he did not wake. The birds did not stop singing outside the open window, and she did not stop working on that fancy bow knot. A curtain of hair hid her face.

Maybe he was awake.

“Gab,” he mumbled, “what are you doing?”

Without looking up, she said, “I’m holding ya hostage until my demands are met.”

He groaned a chuckle. Only her. Quirky as the day they had met. “And your demands are?”

“You’re getting a checkup with the docs. Blood tests and scans and everything.”

“Whaaat? Why? You know I don’t like—”

“Non-negotiable. Agree or I’ll drag ya by the pinky.”

He smirked, teasing, “With this red thread? Have you been reading adventure-romance novels again?” She had quite the collection.

“Row. I’m serious.” She gave up on tying the last knot and looked up. Her eyes were red, her cheeks glistening.

“Have you—” He coughed in alarm and palmed the mattress, sitting up. “Have you been crying?”

“Obviously.” She sniffed. “Just agree. Don’t be a dummy. Please.”

Ah, damn.

His wife was crying. His normally happy-go-lucky (though sometimes crazy) wife was crying. He had only seen her so upset a few times. How could any man say no here? But he had to weigh down an urge to mess with her. “Yeah sure, if it means that much. But why?”

She shrugged and looked away, out the window into the sunlight filtering through dense branches.

He took her chin, gently, and guided her eyes back to him. “I’ll get it out of you one way or another. The handcuffs and straps are just over there.” His head jerked toward the chair. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

A smile gradually diffused across those dry lips. “It’s pretty dumb, actually.”

“It can’t be that dumb if you’re worried about my health.”

She sighed, her eyes wandering. She said in a rush, “I had a bad dream where you had late-stage cancer. We were in a hospital room, and we were playing with some of—”

“I died, didn’t I?”

Her shoulders sank. “Yup.”

“How bad was it?”

“Horrible! You died in my arms. It felt so real.” Her voice squeaked. “We were still young, not even wrinkly.”

“Yeah, how horrible, but I mean how bad was the cancer? What type was it?” It could be for real—a one in a million chance. He had read online of people accurately dreaming of the future. He had snoozed through documentaries of psychics and remote-viewers working for intelligence agencies. It was best to be open-minded about these things no matter how outlandish.

“You’re so empathetic.” Her tongue clicked. “But I dunno. Ya know how dreams are.”

“Then how did you know it was cancer?”

“Oh, dream-me said it, and dream-you joked about dream-me having eye-lumps.”

His fingers tingled. “Then you’re getting a checkup too. ASAP. I’ll make an appointment after breakfast for—” The day’s plans hit him like a brick to the forehead. “An appointment for next week for both of us, I promise. But for now, Sortis Online’s launching in an hour.” 9AM sharp. “Unthread me. We have to get moving.”

Her demeanor uplifted. Lingering distress washed away. “Kay!” She poked out her tongue and started working on the many knots in the ribbon. She was certainly serious about taking him hostage. “Though I’m going to nag if you forget.”

Rowan chuckled along with the birds outside.

Their morning rituals carried on as usual with minimal conversation: thirty minutes of push-ups and sit-ups and squats for him on the apartment’s balcony while she huffed and puffed on the treadmill for fewer minutes. She showered before he did, helped herself to breakfast, then laboriously fixed her appearance and outfit for the day. Typical girl and boy things. Normal things. He had long adapted to living together—a very normal couple’s life.

Soon enough, he was off with her in tow, a two minute power walk through the park. On a pebbly path through willow trees, they strode toward an oblong glassy building, the Hyperloop terminal. The smell of freshly cut grass and lavender was strong to an nearly hallucinatory extent. Rowan nearly mistook a dog playing fetch as a furry monster from a video game.

While they waited for the next shuttle, he phoned in to the local clinic. He mumbled under his breath, “This better not be one of those AI assistants. They’ve been taking over the world.”

The call was answered after seven rings. A woman spoke, “Hello. I’m Dakota, an advanced artificial intelligence medical assistant. How may I help?”

“And it’s an AI,” Rowan said, covering the phone.

Gabrielle chirped bubbly glee, “Hehehe. Better get used to it. We’re gonna be playing with em in just a bit.”

“Hello? Are you there? Is this an emergency?” Dakota said in a concerned tone.

“I’m here. It’s not an emergency. I’d like to make appointment next week for me and my wife with our family doctor.” He assumed Dakota had caller ID.

“Preferred times?”

He faked a yawn as he drawled an answer: “Caan yee dooo saaturduh nine aye em.”

“Next Saturday, nine in the morning?”

Wow. It understands.

He swallowed a cough. “Yeah.”

“Great. See you then. Thank you, Rowan. Give my regards to Gabrielle.”

“Seeya.”

The call ended with a plastic click.

Impressive. He wouldn’t have known it wasn’t human otherwise. No wonder Synaptic Entertainment had partnered with Automaton Corporation in an effort to… What was their catch phrase? Bring new life to NPCs? Something along those lines.

As the shuttle slid down the transparent tube, Gabrielle said, “Yawned on purpose, didn’t ya?”

“Dakota gives you her regards. Good AI.”

“Of course. We’re going to make so many digital friends!”

Rowan inhaled conditioned air as the shuttle opened before him. “I kind of want to just do raids and gank scrubs in the wilderness.” He shrugged, presenting his plastic pass card to the scanner, stepping into the compact space. Morning passengers occupied five out of sixteen seats, the back vacant just for him and her.

“Ya meanie.” She giggled connivingly, skipping along.

“I also want to see if I can burn down an entire town or city. Ultra-realism, right?”

“Is someone feeling violently nihilistic again?”

He sat on the clean seat. The shuttle was accelerating smoothly. “A bit.”

She plopped down with her posh leather handbag on her lap. “Why? Cus of university?”

His professors were insufferable, but… “Not really.”

“Our tiny cramped apartment?”

“Nah. I still think it’s cozy.”

“Our Mytube channel which isn’t doing so well?”

He shrugged.

“Hmmmmmmmm. It can’t be cus of sex. So what’s really the matter?”

He stared out into the endless perfectly aligned rows of parabolic solar panels. Imagination painted a meteor falling from the heavens. “I just feel like watching it all burn, you know? I’m bit tired of life. This game better be worth the money.”

Her eyes rolled. “No, Row. I’m not a pyromaniac.” Pyro was in fact a possible Fate out of hundreds.

Fates, a unique twist the game designers threw in, spiced up how and where players entered the game world based on their personalities and desires though randomized to a limited degree .The AI was to grant each player three to pick from on top of a default Mundane fate.

He said, “I didn’t say I was.”

“Uh, yes, you did. I’m gonna have to hide the matches and lighter now.”

He patted her knee thrice. “And you? Noblewoman? Trader? Have you decided?”

Her grayish-blue eyes met his for a long moment, somewhat dousing his inner flames. “Row’s master.”

A chuckled breath rasped from his lungs. “Come on. Be serious.”

“Hmph.” She flicked his earlobe. “I am serious. I think I’ll just tag along with whatever you choose, unless I get a legendary. Cus then you’ll be taggin’ along with me.”

Each Fate allowed for various numbers of tag-along players to promote team-play and flexibility. But most legendary Fates allowed one at most, some none at all, and legendary rarity was truly legendary in this game—one in five thousand on average according to the devs.

And also according to the devs…

Rowan said, “Why legendary? They don’t give that big of an advantage. Remember what the lead designer said? Negligible. Some of them make it harder. It’s mostly for the story and roleplay. I heard a few could make the game unplayable if you choose them.”

She smirked, licking her slightly-crooked teeth. “Silly Row. We could be instantly famous. Our money problems would be solved.” They ran a slowly-growing MyTube channel with a few thousand subscribers. Neither he or she, however, was up for live-streaming—too much pressure while playing. Edited highlights were more than fine.

“Game’s not even out yet. It could flop.”

“Nyaa. Dun’ say that. You’ll jinx it.”

“Nine out of ten MMOs flop. Probably more than that.” His stomach clenched as the shuttle zoomed into Capitol City, already decelerating.

“I’m not listening.” Because she had saved for weeks for an extended-immersion spot at Synaptic HQ. Regular players were stuck with VR helmets. “And Sortis Online is the first of its kind. It has the first-mover advantage in the gaming market.” She was studying economics as a minor.

The shuttle slipped into an offshoot, into a terminal, with a tacky whirring noise coming from below the seat. That didn’t sound very safe either.

He said, “We’ll see. This fate system is already risking it.” He stood, taking her smaller hand.

“Grouchy Row can be so pessimistic.”

“I’m not grouchy,” he almost snarled. “I’m realistic.”

“I’m not grouchy,” she mimicked, making a face.

He exhaled. “Let’s just go.”

“Hehehe.”

He flashed his pass by the scanner, the clunky box beeping green. His arm slipped around hers, and they strolled through the dense weekend shopping crowd within this gargantuan hall of mirrors and ivory, the morning sun reflecting harshly on the closest twin skyscrapers. Synaptic HQ was… a few hundred meters that way. Eastward, by the fields and... He sniffed, stopped a sneeze with a swallow. He could smell the flowers from all the way over here.

Compared to the surrounding greenery and skyscrapers, the campus was unimposing, comprised of a dozen buildings two-to-three stories high. But a fearsome ebony statue of a stereotypical green-skinned orc riding a wolf greeted visitors. An oversized, cartoonish red sign pointed toward player housing to the right. And no pollen here. How quaint.

Gabrielle yanked him by the fingers, giddiness exploding. “Come on! Come on! We’re already late!”

Late for fate-sorting. Those who pre-ordered gold editions of the extended-immersion subscription were treated to these social events throughout the world. Everyone else was sorted inside virtual reality.

Inside the lobby Rowan’s boots squeaked on polished marble tiles, and a sparse crowd of a couple hundred lingered by a dozen hologram-projecting stations. The aroma of catering was thick with baked flavors. Rowan’s mouth watered as a lady cross-checked his ID on a laptop. Smiling, she said, “You’re just in time.” She passed him an access card, and waved him through.

“Good to hear. Thank you.” He grabbed a cheese and bacon scone and stepped toward the furtherest station for some privacy, Gabrielle just behind with a caramel slice. It looked like everyone had already sorted themselves. Rowan was indeed late, fashionably. He did not mind. Savory delight piled into his stomach while less ten faces looked in their direction. No one recognized Gabrielle; their channel was still tiny after all.

Their conversations were what one would expect.

“By the way, my guild Light’s Justice is recruiting. We welcome basically everyone, but we have a hardcore focus. World-firsts on everything!”

“I hope pain is tuned down enough. I have a low threshold.”

“I think we should go with The Thief. It says it has a high potential for gold-making.”

“Ugh, shucks. I didn’t get a legendary.”

“If anyone gets a good legendary, I’m willing to pay good credits to be the tag-along.”

“Is real-money trading even allowed?”

A Synaptic employee in a blazer T-shirt combo answered that one: “We found through market research that up to a third of players may potentially engage in such activity, so we ultimately decided to allow real-money trading through in-game adventurer-only credit markets and third-party dealers, but I must stress that any bug abuse or attempts at automating the game through the home headsets are violations of the terms of service. I most also stress that most items can also be both destroyed or stolen or both. Synaptic Entertainment will take no responsibility for lost assets, as per the terms of service.”

Fair enough. Ultra-realism.

Gabrielle said, “We could make some money with that.”

“Maybe some pocket change.” Rowan past attempts at real-money trading in other games hadn’t been fruitful.

Then a guy yelled, “Someone from Australia got a legendary fate!”

Rowan shrugged, tempted to crack a comment about kangaroos. It was bound to happen. Millions around the world were ready for this launch. The limited immersion VR helmets had long shipped, a pair sitting in Gabrielle’s closet.

“Kay, enough pigging out,” she chirped and roughly pushed in front of him.

The remaining bite of his scone was nearly knocked from his fingers, but he let it slide.

She swiped her access card and donned the head gear, and in seconds, the hologram shifted from a twinkling constellation to three crystals. Her posture immediately wilted with her typical dramatic flair. No legendary fates—as expected. She waved away the hologram and pulled off the gear before he could even get a good look. One was The Noble, and the other had polished silver artwork.

He asked, “What was that silver one?”

“Nothing good. Your turn.” A sigh wafted from her lips. She leaned to his ear, added in a whisper, “None of my baking for a month if ya don’t get a legendary.”

His stomach shriveled. “Don’t be like that,” he whispered back, then stepped forth.

Momentary hesitation held back his wrist. His heart was thumping. Nevertheless, a forceful jerk of his bicep swiped the access card. The room throbbed with his quickening pulse, and the chatter quieted in his ears.

Please be amazing. Be legendary.

This was it. His fate. He didn’t know where this sudden rush of emotion was rising from, but having his entire psyche and deepest desires judged by a hyper-intelligent AI was more than daunting, invasive even. His personality type and life experiences were taken into account during its decision making. He sucked in a deep breath and placed the wireless tiara on his forehead.

The crystals faded in, labels beneath each. The Exile. The Assailant.

A wave of hot adrenaline swept his body.

Demonborn. Legendary fate.