As the tent flapped open, Jochem observed how the slave master would react to the news. One Leopold Cornelius Blair sat amidst his pillaged bedchamber, quivering, caressing the raw, cracked skin on his arm. But besides his body language screaming fear and subservience, he did not say much. Interesting. He still thinks there’s a chance to regain his status.

The slave -ex-slave- Muna timidly stepped in and Jochem rose to greet her. He continued watching the slave’s master’s expression as he walked towards her, right up to the point that they were almost touching.

“That was the last group,” she said, clearly unsure of who to face -Jochem or her old master- so she looked at the floor instead. “They’ve all gone to reclaim the plantation. It’s just us left.”

She said the last part like a question; Is it really safe for only us to remain?

Jochem went to comfort her, and immediately regretted it. She readily accepted his touch, her Shuriman features lighting up, desert-tan mirroring to Jochem’s own -or rather, the body he inhabited.

He hopped back, and with a cough said, “Thank you, Muna, that will be all.”

There was a well-suppressed twinge in her eyebrow, but Muna bowed out without comment.

Cupping his chin, Jochem drifted into deep thought once she left.

The rapid, complex emotions in her face were extremely fascinating! Like she couldn’t believe what was happening. Informed by previous experience? Yes, she must have had a close relationship with the original owner of this body. The slave…I wish I knew his name. But of course, no wonder she’s the only one that stayed around. That wasn’t creeped out by an out-of-time-and-space weirdo who upended her life. Yet, she couldn’t let go of her feelings for him? For the body?

Fascinating. This AI, so fascinating.

“Is it over, then? Can I go?” called the ex-slave master, interrupting his thoughts.

Not you, though, Jochem thought, frowning as he turned. He debated whether to torture the bastard a little.

“I’ve given away everything I’ve ever had, my livelihood, my wares and even my inventory of slaves—”

Jochem stopped channeling mana into the searing bracer. Cornelius is doing a great job torturing himself. Facing the man in perfect calm and silence, Jochem watched his madness develop.

“—I’ve told you everything I know.” He was tearing up now. “Everything from my life, my thoughts and secrets and desires, to the entire cultural and political history of Runeterra. I cooperated from dusk ‘til dawn, till my lips split and my throat bled—"

If only that were useful. Bilgewater was a pirate ruled city until wars and events blah-blah-blah and now the Nagakaborous placed the weakened empire on their payroll. Weird way to progress civilization. And anyhow, what am I supposed to extrapolate with that garbage lore?

Cultural commentary on the reliance of a conquest narrative could be a topic. Maybe. It would get traffic for like, an article or two. But -curse Riot!- it’s hard to say anything definite about a fantasy setting that drew so heavily on other classics. They could easily shirk the controversy down along the line, at least somewhat, then fix what they can to appease the public. Nah, that angle isn’t fruitful. The whole night wasted, really…

“—freeing my slaves, you did so without care. You didn’t revel in their glory or relish in my pain. Even when they divided and fought amongst themselves on whether to accept this freedom, all you did was watch!”

I want something more from this game. There must be something deeper here, beyond the dumb clickbaity stuff like souls comparisons, shaming AAA developers or lore loopholes. With such advanced AI, I was certain I’d be inspired to write something.

How advanced? Certainly, in the time I’ve spent they’ve seemed pretty real…

“—claim to be from another world? So for what purpose have you come? If you have none, why don’t you LET ME GO? If nobody’s making you, why continue?”

The Bilgewater Battle Royale, silly. What if -

Cornelius instantly shut up, slamming back against his chair in fright as Jochem grinned.

“Alright, buddy,” he begn, “Let me explain it to you.

“Your entire world is a fabrication, made by my people. And right now, it’s only a prototype. I’m here just to check it out.”

Jochem paused, pursing his lips. The slave master clearly didn’t comprehend a word.

Sighing, he continued anyway, putting conscious effort into making this forcing a mind-blowing revelation onto the AI, “Whatever I do here doesn’t matter. Like a- I don’t know—” Jochem tapped his bangle, “Like a jeweller’s clay mould. Yeah. Ultimately whatever exists, to you, can be forged and re-forged in moments by the makers of this place.”

“Makers,” Cornelius repeated, “Who are they?”

O-kay! We’re getting somewhere.

“Well, what do you think they are?” Jochem asked, eager to arrive at a natural understanding. Then cringed as the slave master rehashed a list of classics. Giant half-men half-beasts, holding chunks of mountain as weapons.

“No-no-no,” he said, cutting Cornelius off, “These ‘makers’ are just people with generations of progress under their fingertips, with the knowledge of what to do with it. All that requires for makers to become makers is to, well make. Similar to how a writer writes a tale. They exist, if only in their mind. Just as you exist, though I have the requisite ability to come and visit you, to also place myself partly in your universe.”

“That doesn’t make sense. How can existence be a lie?” Cornelius shook the possibility right out of his head.

“But—”

“You’re lying! Whoever you’re working for, tell them I’ll one day get my revenge get!” the slave master roared.

Great, I broke him.

Jochem clenched his wrists and activated the searing chain ability. He watched Cornelius convulse and foam at the mouth for a while, trying to figure out if he could have approached that better. Unlikely.

Y’know this actually is great; it could’ve been a serious problem if they acknowledged their limitation…what if they did? Hmm, what could be a news story around that? If I was trapped in a game, and I knew it was a game, what would I want to do?

Oh, shit. I’d want to get out…

Muna re-entered the tent again. Shuffling up to Jochem she whispered, “There’s a messenger. Invitation to a committee meeting,” then stopped, taking in the sight of the incapacitated Cornelius. “For him. Regarding the harrowing I believe, um, sir.”

Cursing under his breath, Jochem stopped charging his ability and hoped to God that he hadn’t just killed the slave master.

*

Unseen, Jochem drooled into the rim of a golden vase while the diplomats bickered. He stopped trying to follow Bilgewater’s politics roughly…five shots ago. Forcing his slave master to serve him rum was about the only thing keeping him entertained.

And entertain it did. Obviously, Cornelius couldn’t let on that he was wasting his special reserve on a Shuriman slave, so he had to pretend like he didn’t trust Jochem -or anyone else, for that matter- and so poured for two behind everyone’s back. Naturally, he also had to keep up in shots. That was the other thing keeping Jochem entertained.

He had all but given up finding some sort of deep story within the Bilgewater Battle Royale, and decided to instead enjoy the remainder of his time. It wasn’t ideal, but he had a couple experiences he could draw upon -and he’ll likely have to fight someone later- there was plenty to write about. Honestly, it didn’t matter; BBR would be the hot topic in gaming, and Jochem had plenty of clout. However, just thinking about having to type out all those pandering articles made him want to swoop down the rest of his rum. He made the slightest toast to the circle of leaders pointing fingers on a map and –

Ahh!

Flexing his eyelids, Jochem tuned back into the conversation. Or tried to. Everything seemed a little wobbly now, so he held on to the large vase to keep it steady. Cornelius, the good lad, peeked over his shoulder whenever he could get away with it. He needn’t worry so much, nobody cared a spit about a drunk. The bureaucrats were all occupied by the sight that lay in every direction out of the open gazebo; that fucking fog.

That’s what they were worried about, those superstitious baboons. Some sickness from spooky gas, while superhumans pranced around their city beheading themselves with ancient relics? It was hilarious in a total easter egg style -as in, why the hell did the devs bother to program all this nonsense? Sure, it’s pretty cool to stumble upon, but was it really worth the effort, nay, the processing power to crank all those AI-neurons into making a decision that mimicked the most basic COVID restrictions? Limit socialization; Support the absolute poorest with a meal here and there; bully doctors into working over-overtime -the last one Jochem added himself. Always bugged him.

Jochem jolted, nearly knocking the vase over as he sat straight up again. Y’know, he thought, that’s actually a pretty good one! I could write that.

He decided to call for a celebratory drink, but as the slave master yelped in pain, suddenly there were a lot of eyes on Jochem.

Luckily, there came a bigger distraction than fog.

The far door cracked open, rupturing from its hinges. “This is NOT the Harrowing!” declared an officious bald woman. By her style of robe, prominent tattoos and jewellery, Jochem could tell she was one of those islanders that he learned had usurped Bilgewater.

“Our people are being used as dolls in the games of another world!”

There was relative nonchalance about her entrance until she said that. But after, the committee launched into uproar. Guards piled in from the sides. The room filled with shouts and jeers, laughs even from her own people.

“And I have proof!”

Jochem stood up suddenly. He wished he wasn’t drunk. Especially because he had inadvertently smashed the vase as he rose, prompting Cornelius to swiftly apprehend him and save what face he could. Assisted by another servant, he pushed Jochem from the meeting. “What do you care? Why did you even agree to come?”

Jochem tried to burn the slave master again, but his mind was too blurred. The bangle failed him.

“No, I need to hear what she has to say,” Jochem said, struggling and slurring his words. He grabbed Cornelius by the wrist. “Who gave you a spine all of a sudden? You know what I can do to you!”

“I don’t care,” said Cornelius as he cast him outside the gazebo. With a heave, he shut the thick door and latched it from inside.

Jochem bounced up straight, but struggled to stay that way. Bashing himself against the door, he realized that it was immovable, and muffled too much of the sound inside. But he had to find a way. A real story awaited him.

The world span. The arched corridors spiralled as his feet crossed over each other in his run. This part of the manor, high up above most other parts of Bilgewater was all open plan. He could see inside the windowless gazebo from here. The scene had calmed down there, and the bald islander had been given a chance to explain herself.

NO! I have to get back there! Stumbling in his rage, Jochem scattered his knees across the fist-sized cobblestone. He breathed hard. Long and with iron will. This is my story. I will cover it. I’ve earned it over my many years working in this fucked up industry.

He looked up with a plan. Inspired by his early years of crawling around restricted areas to get ‘special access’. Hoisting himself up, he found the rock wall to be easily grippable. Scalable. With a quick look back at the gazebo, Jochem mapped out a route in his head and prayed that enough of the guards had been withdrawn earlier.

But before he got a leg up, he noticed what lined the walls, and smiled. How foreboding, he thought, and grabbed the nearest weapon from its place on the wall-rack. Two of them. Tired old axes with rough-iron edges and wooden hafts. Finding a way to hoist them on his back, Jochem climbed onto the roof and found that he was not alone.