Standing at the elevator doors. Staring down the hall towards his apartment. It might as well have been an ice bridge across a bottomless chasm instead of a length of carpeted hall. When he made no move to exit the elevator, the doors began to close with an electric sigh causing him to jump out of the way or be pinched. Peter aimed a swift kick at the stainless steel panel. “Teach you to close on me, jerk.”

Forced into action, he trudged down the hall dragging one hand along the wall, feeling the old paint ripple slightly under his fingers. He tapped lightly on each door along the hall, not enough to make a noise, just enough to register the texture on his fingertips. The light next to his own door was making a high pitched buzzing noise as he inserted the key and turned it. The door swung inwards and he stood staring blankly into the kitchen. The faint aroma of last night’s dinner still lingered, laid atop the usual smell of three people in a small apartment. Taking a deep breath he could identify his father’s sweat, his mother’s antiperspirant and that special funk unique to his room for some reason. He knew he was procrastinating, but had no idea why. Objectively there was nothing stopping him raiding the fridge, throwing himself onto the lounge and logging into the game. Or reading a book. Or dropping his bag inside the door and going upstairs to sit in the garden. And yet…

Taking another deep breath, Peter pushed on into the room. Closing the door, he hung his bag on the hook on the back and, deliberately not looking into the lounge as he passed, dashed into his room and threw himself on the bed before his nerve failed.

Lying with his face smooshed into the pillow, every inch of his skin tingling, ashamed that it took courage to enter his own home. “What the heck is wrong with me?” He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Scratching an errant itch on his arm caused him to brush against the bio-suture the nurse had applied to it, so he raised both arms up to compare them. The right arm was it’s normal pasty white self, maybe whiter than normal from the cool in the house. The left, on the other hand, or arm, was hot and pink, the capillaries evident especially along the edges of the wound. Directly under the bio-suture the skin was an amber tone from the antiseptic with small flecks of black still. Overall it was quite swollen and tender. “Why can’t I just respawn and have this go away? That would be so much easier.” He turned both arms this way and that. “You know what? Bugger it.”

A thought later the world of The Age subsumed his senses. He held out both arms and examined them critically. Still white and pasty, he thought. In fact even more so, almost skeletal. “I REALLY have to stop dying,” he muttered to himself. He stepped out of the alley he had chosen to log out in and sought out the nearest window to check his reflection in. His skin was tight on his bones, leaving his cheeks and eyes hollow and sunken. Still, he felt fine. His clothes were a little ratty and there was a slit right over his heart, but overall he was doing alright. They were just clothes though, maybe it was time to invest in some armour.

A short wander down the dusty street brought him back to the tailor’s shop. Since he had been in a bit of a daze last time he came here, Peter had rushed inside without taking much notice of the shop front. This time he had more time to appreciate the details, like the comedy/tragedy masks on the sign, or the roses in the window boxes that were alternately black and white blooms. Inside, having more time to browse than before, he noticed that the contrast theme extended to all of the shops’ decor. The light fittings alternated between gold and silver, the curtains were striped red and blue.

Standing at attention behind the counter this time, instead of the lady that Peter had been expecting, was an automaton in a tuxedo and bowler hat. The top half of his face was exquisitely animated metal plates sliding over each other as he offered a “Good morning young Traveller. How may I offer assistance today?” The bottom half of the face was a single perfect piece of black ceramic with a tiny slot between the lips from which a deep, resonant voice in a perfect British accent had issued.

Mindful that this could be either a Citizen or a Traveller impersonating one, or a third option, a mindless bot owned by one of the former. If the last it would only have a small set of preprogrammed responses. If the first two Peter knew he would have to be mindful of how he went, ex-adventurers who are touchy about being exposed are hazardous to your digital health, and alienating actual Citizens could end up turning the whole town against him.

“Greetings and salutations my good sir. I am seeking protective clothing, do you carry such in stock?” Peter approached the counter cautiously.

“Very good lad, come this way. We have an extensive selection of cloth and leather armours of varying qualities. May I inquire as to your budget, to better direct your inquiry?” The automaton moved towards the northern end of the store where there lay several piles of carefully folded garments in assorted colours.

Casting an eye over the selection, Peter checked his funds. “Not more than a gold, please sir.”

“Would that be per piece or total today?” A metallic eyebrow arched in inquiry.

“Probably not a bot then,” Peter thought to himself. He gave a tight smile, “Ah, that would be in total. Sorry. I’m still new to adventuring.”

A metallic hand picked out two pieces made of standard brown leather. “Not a problem sir, everyone starts somewhere. These leggings and this vest will provide a modicum of protection without sacrificing movement. You don’t look like the sort to be slinging spells or standing at the front line of battle, so I don’t believe you are after a boiled leather chestplate or sorcerer's robes.”

Accepting the pieces with a nod, he looked them over then back to the shopkeep. “I need all the cover I can get. Do you have something to cover my arms?”

Tapping his fingertips against his thumb tips as he cast his gaze over the assorted leatherwork on the shelves, the metallic man eventually picked out a pair of full arm bracers. “These should satisfy your requirements.”

They slipped onto his arms and tightened comfortably so Peter nodded in assent. “They shall do quite nicely. How much all up?”

The nominated value made Peter’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “That’s everything I have! I thought you were going to keep it to my budget?”

“Sir, if it were just the initial items that I suggested, it would be just fifty coppers.” White gloved hands raised in surrender. “The only arm protection we have available at the moment are the ones you’re wearing. They’re masterwork tooled leather with loops for spare bolts or vials. Sir, these pieces are worth much more than I’m asking. I’m only able to let them go at such a discount because my wife tells me you’re helping this town in a way that no Traveller has in many years.”

Mollified, Peter emptied his funds out and poured the small pile of coins into an outstretched hand. “Really?”

“Well, that and they’ve been sitting on the shelf for so long. The Traveller who made them thought that they’d look better with the scrollwork dyed black. Unfortunately the dye seems to leach out sometimes. Still, where there’s life, there’s hope. And with the greater protection your purchases will provide, you’ll recoup your investment in short order.” He took the money and put it in the register with a musical tinkle. “Will that be all today sir?”

Quickly stuffing his items in his inventory, Peter was about to decline when something in there caught his eye. “Actually no. I’m in need of some custom leatherwork. I know it’s going to be expensive,” he held up a hand to forestall any response and pulled out his scythe. “I need a back holster for this. You know already that I don’t have the lucre, not even enough for a deposit, but I need one.”

Producing a notepad from an inside pocket, and with swift, precise pen strokes the shopkeep made a note, tore it off and impaled it on a brass spike beside the register. “That shan’t be an issue. You keep fighting the good fight out there and we’ll ensure you’re taken care of. It will take a few days to prepare, however. This isn’t your usual Traveller weapon and will require some engineering to produce. It won’t be cheap either. You baulked at the bracers, but I can assure you this will be at least five gold pieces, possibly more.” As he spoke his pen was busily scrabbling across the paper again. “It should end up looking something like this,” the page was torn out and presented to Peter. On it was a faint representation of a humanoid, but in bolder lines an open sided tube-like sheath that would clearly fit the weapon snugly but still offer rapid and simple extraction, should the need arise. It hung diagonally across the back, with straps over the right shoulder and around the waist.

“That would be perfect.” Peter handed the design back. “And don’t worry about the money, I’ll be sure to have it when the time comes. I have something coming up that should line my pockets quite nicely.”

“Very good sir. Then I shall bid you good day.”

“Good day to you as well.”

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he let his last words run through his mind. “I hope it lines my pockets, anyway. Now, how do I work this friend interface thing?” He unlaced the bracer and began poking around in his Adventurer’s Mark. “Not that, not that, not that either. Damn. Where is it?” He flicked up and down past the attribute scores, the skill points and the other entries that made no sense. “How did Pham do this? Argh,” he smacked his fist against his forearm then winced in pain. “Ow, ok that was stupid. How the heck do I message someone?”

Frustrated, he re-laced the bracer. Then, he undid it and re-laced it less tightly so that his hand wasn’t turning purple. “Well, she knows how to find me. I’ve got a whacker, some new threads and a laundry list of Citizenry that need saving. First things first.” He pulled out the key gifted to him what seemed like an age ago. “How does this work again? Oh, yeah. Temple.”

Peter stalked along the sidewalk with a face like a thundercloud. Anyone he encountered took one look at him and got out of his way. He stomped up the stairs, completely ignored the greetings from the priestess, stuck the key in the door to the broom cupboard and wrenched open the door. Hit in the face by several falling brooms, he slammed the door closed, turned the key this time, pulled it open again and slammed it behind himself.

His footfalls echoed through the small house as he stomped into the living room where the Avatar of Life had introduced herself. He stripped off the bracers, his cloak, his shirt, his boots, his pants. He flung them about the room with no regard for where they fell. Left standing in the middle of the room he screamed his anger out. He stomped his feet and when they hurt too much he threw himself onto his hands and knees and beat on the floor.

The rage vanished as quickly as it had come and when it had run its course he lay in a circle of discarded clothing breathing heavily. Peter lay on the floor confused as to where this bout of such extreme anger had come from. It had been an absolute overreaction to a minor annoyance. And where had it gone? Now he was just exhausted.

So.

Tired.

He was so tuckered out that he laid his head on his arms and was about to fall asleep when he noticed something new.

Peter raised his head, paying attention to his arms for the first time. The emaciated, chalk-white skin was now emblazoned with the scrollwork from the sleeves. Honestly, it looked kinda badass. It didn’t cover his Adventurer’s Mark, instead framing it with what resembled celtic knotwork. Picking himself up off the floor Peter ambled over to the full length mirror in the corner. He turned himself every which way to better see his new art. The knotwork extended from his wrists to his shoulder in stark contrast to the pale skin.

Still feeling drained, he took a seat in the big comfy chair and leaned back. He drummed his heels against the legs. Breathing deeply, deliberately and slowly he let his mind relax.

“If I wanted to know how to send a message, I could just log out and look it up.”

Breathe.

“There is nothing to freak out about.”

Breathe.

“Calm. Peace. Quiet.”

Breathe.

“You can no longer let these situations get the better of you.”

Breathe.

“Next time you feel overwhelmed, just breathe.”

Breathe.

Something about this room felt soothing, like chamomile tea for the soul. Peter looked around more carefully, admiring the shining brass fittings, the pattern on the curtains, the impressive writing desk in the corner. He breathed the slightly smoky scent from the fireplace, enjoying the smell. The leather under him creaked slightly as his weight shifted, the warm, soft surface clinging a little to his bare skin.

Feeling much calmer, Peter stood up and dressed himself slowly. He eased his shirt on over his wings carefully. He pulled on his new armour and made sure it was firmly but not too tightly laced. He was just pulling his boot laces tight when a little mechanical bird the size of a robin flew into the room through the chimney and landed on the coffee table with a metallic clatter and left little sooty footprints on the surface.

“Hello little guy. What do you want?”

It whistled a short tune and laid a tiny, rough brass egg. Cocking its head to a side, it took off and flew back out the window. Intrigued, Peter picked up the egg. It sat in his palm for a moment, then unfolded itself like reverse origami. It was engraved with a message.

‘Sup Pete. I C Ur online. LFG?

There was a small mark below the writing, so Peter pressed his thumb to it on the assumption that it probably worked like a quest note. A magic GPS trail flared to life, disappearing out the window. “Well, I’m not going out that way.”

Finishing off his boots, Peter straightened the room. It was his room now and he felt responsible. He resolved to make time to explore the rest of the house fully. For now, he left through the front door, locking it on the way out and making sure the key was safely stored in his inventory. While he had the interdimensional space open he gently lifted DB out and tucked him into the hood. “C’mon you, time to go exploring. Can’t sleep your whole life away.”

On the way out through the temple, Peter paused to apologise to the priestess. “I’m sorry sister. I plead temporary insanity.” It was a safe bet that the priestesses were NPCs, but this was more about him taking responsibility for his emotions than for any ‘feelings’ a machine may have. He still wasn’t sure the whole system wasn’t somehow getting its kicks watching die over and over again, but he was damned if he was going to let it make him a bad person.

“Go in peace, Traveller. I have had worse and will again.”

Peter bowed his acceptance and left following the fairy lights.