I quickly figured out how to activate the NerveGear’s body-skin function, and as soon as I did, I felt the strangest sensation.

  It began under the ridge of the helmet. A cool, slick feeling, like snakeskin, lightly squeezed my neck and spread down my throat, clinging to my skin as it went. It crept under my suit and button-down shirt, and when I held out my arm before me, I saw the silvery material appear around my suit cuffs. It didn’t cover my hands, which worried me, but it did seem airtight between my throat and the helmet. If worse came to worst, I’d lose my hands, but not my head.

  Finally, Dave said, through another Whisper. I should have made you put that on ages ago, but we never seemed to get the chance.

  I pulled up my shirt to watch the material descend. The body-skin shimmered in the cloudy light of the town, which had fallen into a very bright night under a pair of double moons. I looked up as the sensation crept over my stomach and down toward my groin, sneaking in underneath all of my clothing. It really did feel like a snake was slithering over me, just after it had slithered across snow.

  I settled in to wait, because clearly, the suit was equipping itself. It was not instantaneous, which made me think it was much more than any simple suit. It almost seemed to be building itself as it went, the edges fizzing like TV static, which I had come to know quite well as a kid.

  I flinched when it got to my groin, hugging me close like a pair of briefs that had been in the fridge. Despite this, the material felt breathable, even airy; there was no building sweat, which I would have felt under synthetic material.

  That said, there was something uncomfortable on my thigh, near the bottom of my pants pocket. I didn’t remember having put anything in my pockets, so I reached in. I found nothing.

  Frowning, I checked the other pocket, which felt fine. Besides, the skin was underneath the fabric of the pockets. So what was making the skin burn? It wasn’t anything I was carrying.

  You mean nothing that you’re carrying knowingly.

  The word hit me with a chill, and I pulled my pockets inside out. I prodded them both, squeezing and picking at them, until I found a tiny object, the size of a grain of rice, sewn into the bottom of one of the pockets.

  I swallowed. The blackshirts had wanted me in this suit for a reason, and I had to think this was it. As the body-skin came to a stop around my ankles, I worked out the tiny little object, prying it from the sewing. I pulled it free and squinted at it, but aside from being metallic, I could not discern what it might be.

  I could guess, though: a tracker. The blackshirts had planted a tracker on me, and it probably monitored my heart rate or something, too.

  I opened my inventory and deposited the item inside. It’s not like the blackshirts were any threat to me anymore, but I preferred not to have hidden trackers on me. I mean, sure, the Conduit were probably tracking me, but at least I was aware of that. I could maybe take a closer look at the blackshirt tracker later, to see if it might be useful in some way, or to perhaps glean some reasoning behind the army of armored blackshirts who’d been waiting for me outside the doctor’s office this morning.

  The thought of enemies lying in wait made my senses perk up, and I rose back into a crouch behind the gargoyle, scanning the immediate area with a detailed sweep of my gaze. It had been quiet here for too long, and another Hunter was likely to show up soon to try to get access to the vault.

  Around me, night had fallen, but nights in Ostium were always bright enough to see by. They had to be, for players to play the game at all hours. One of the two moons was larger and brighter than the other, casting most of the light. The smaller one hovered in front, bluish and backlit by the larger moon in a sort of perpetual eclipse.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Meanwhile, the sky was thickly dusted with stars that stretched across the world on a galactic scale, depicting nebulas, smaller planets, and the pale tentacle-arms of distant galaxies. The air was chill, smelling of winter, tousling my hair. It was all so real, a thousand times more real than the VR version of the game.

  And somehow, it was real. All of this was. The technology forming my suit might be beyond my understanding, but what about the tech that had built this whole world from scratch? Where even were we? Was this a transformed Earth, or was it all some illusion? Was it a fever dream implanted in my mind?

  I wished I could ask Dave, but I’d learn the Whisper function later. “Hey,” I said, leaning toward him. I nodded toward a building across the street and several shops down. “That building there, with the spire? Can you swing by there and see if you notice anything odd?”

  Dave cocked his head, then gave one of his customary bird shrugs and took to wing. I frowned. Everything about Radix was as I remembered it, from the circular ruby waystone in the center of town to the tall water tower across the street from this bank. Graylings and Turaang stood chatting in indistinct conversations, the Graylings with their dull-colored arms waving as they spoke, while the more reserved Turaangs twitched their blue antennae and nodded.

  All the NPCs had names floating above their heads in NPC blue. Several people walked past along various set paths. I recognized one of them, from the demonlike Scael race. He stopped at the end of town, then turned around and came walking back, stuck forever on the same route.

  The people here wore shabby leather clothing, marking this town as the outpost it was, although the Graylings had managed to dye their leathers in gray or white. The people here were hunters and gatherers and soldiers, which could be told apart by the amount of dirt staining their outfits.

  I’d used the blacksmith, the inn, and the vendors here hundreds of times—but the one thing that was different was the temple. I’d sent Dave to have a look because the lights in the windows had gone dark.

  Every time I’d ever come here, the temple had been bright and welcoming. You could walk in and get free healing anytime, and occasionally pick up quests from the Celeste worshippers who lived there.

  If it offers free healing, it’s no wonder the Conduit didn’t want to include it in the gameplay, I thought, just as I caught Dave’s shape rounding the water tower on his return flight. The water tower was made from wood, and there was a quest later on where a naga took up residence there. I resolved to keep an eye on it, in case it started sprouting mobs. The Conduit were apparently taking direction from the game, but they were also altering it wherever they saw fit.

  Dave fluttered as he came to rest on the nearest gargoyle’s shoulder. “Place looks dead,” he said, referencing the Celeste temple. “But there’s a sign on the door. Says the shrine maidens have gone out to fetch flameroot.”

  I nodded. That was another quest that happened later in the game. I knew where to find the maidens, but that would come later.

  Right now, a Hunter was coming. I saw a shadow moving closer, hugging the walls of the rickety shops and homes lining this side of the street.

  Also, it wasn’t alone. Another shape followed the first, creeping along the roofs on the opposite side of the street. They might be acting in concert, but ten to one, the second guy was hunting the first.

  And, again, I had gained nothing explosive from the mama dragon. If I wanted to push these gargoyles off this roof, I’d have to hop my 10 Strength was enough to do that.

  Why are we standing here? Planning an ambush? Dave asked.

  I considered how best to answer him. In the game, these gargoyles can be dislodged by planting explosives on their plinths. It was used as a part of a bank robbing quest, to draw the Riftguards inside the bank and allow the player to sneak into the vault unimpeded.

  The first Hunter was getting close now. They were almost to the door. I couldn’t see much of them without exposing myself, but I got the shine of something slimy, and a hint of green. In my head, I temporarily categorized them as a swamp monster.

  I put both hands against the gargoyle. “Tell me when they’re in position,” I breathed.

  Dave leaned out over the statue’s shoulder. He held out a wing.

  I waited. One beat, two beats. The other Hunter had stopped looking, its head turned toward us. It saw us.

  Then a spear materialized in its hand.

  It’s the spear thrower from before! I realized, just as Dave dropped his wing.

  Run or push. Take a spear to the shoulder, or finish an enemy. In that moment, I could do one or the other.

  I chose murder, and I pushed.