《Analyst Advancement! (A LitRPG Adventure)》Chapter 11: A Mannequin of a Man

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Malum blessed the good weather as the convoy stopped for the night. In the distance, a massive spire of towering marble rose past the clouds. Players scrambled to and fro to set up camp, racing the sun’s dying rays. Firewood was gathered and ignited, tents were pitched, and rock paper scissors was played to decide the first lookout. Malum wasn’t the one to idly give orders, and he helped set up one of the tents.

“Thank you sir!” A rogue working to hammer stakes into the ground said as he noticed Malum’s assistance. Malum only nodded in return. He wasn’t helping out of the kindness of his heart, he told himself, but out of impatience. Throwing together the camp took all of ten minutes, and Malum started to get tired. An unwelcome notification appeared, and Malum sighed:

[You have been playing for 19:29:40. You will be kicked in 30:20. Playing for extended periods of time could have adverse effects on your mental, physical, and/or social health.]

“I’m logging off for the night,” Malum announced to nobody in particular. He heard a couple of half-hearted responses before his virtual world collapsed around him. The lid of his coffin-shaped immersion capsule lifted automatically as he sat up, his life support disconnecting. He stretched his arms and climbed out. He stepped over the empty water bottles and empty packages like a choreographed dance that he knew every step to. He did know all the steps because he hadn’t made an effort to clean his apartment in months. He sat on the toilet and saw his disappointing face looking back at him in the mirror.

“Need a haircut,” He mumbled to himself as he stroked his fingers back his greasy black mess of a mop. “Maybe next week,” Malum convinced himself. He was glad he didn’t grow much facial hair, it meant he didn’t have to shave. At twenty-three he only had a little stubble on his chin. His face was a gaunt mask, much unlike the chiseled and respectable one in the game. He liked being his avatar, not this person.

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He checked his phone for a moment before he went to bed. One message. His mother, checking on him again. He snarled at the message, and the implied insult it carried. Of course he is fine, his mom doesn’t need to keep treating him like a child, looking down on him like she always does. He set down his phone and laid awake in bed for a while. He thought about tomorrow's plans in Ancient Realms for a while until the flaky paint above him grew farther and farther, and he was embraced by sweet sleep at last.

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