Maybe I should have spoken when John Wicked came in the door. Perhaps I should have answered him when he asked the air a question about interacting. I could have pointed out that he’s human in an Orcish part of town. According to the aspect screen’s tutorial notes, orcs were mistrustful—verging on hateful—toward humans.

  Live and learn. In John’s case, grab an orc by the apron and see what happens.

  A werewolf in tattered clothing surged up, claws slashing at Alga. His original HP rose to double, but as that broken arm had taken half of his original HP pool, he still had the same amount of HP he had when he walked in the door. I kept myself to the end of the bar, crossing my arms over my chest.

  That was a great race type for a Tank. A shame he didn’t have anyone to heal him.

  I wasn’t about to jump in, but I wasn’t going to miss this unfold, either.

  No way could I turn down a chance to observe this place and its people in a confrontation. Alga’s fists blurred, blocking John Wicked’s strike before slamming into his chest. The werewolf flew off the bar, crashing through a bench.

  Ah. That explained the mismatched furniture. The werewolf tumbled, rolled, and landed back on his furry feet, ready for more. John’s jagged-toothed muzzle turned, baleful red gaze falling on me. His nameplate turned red.

  My HUD flared: FEAR AURA.

  Arms fallen to my sides, I stilled, staring him down. I mean, I stared at him, but surprise had me frozen like a rabbit in the bush.

  A dozen options ran through my head—grab a stool, duck behind the bar, or maybe run for the mysterious back room? The exit taunted me from behind the Were, and I could see the street beyond. Except, going through all those teeth and claws seemed like a good way to lose my first of five lives; I’d wait, let him make a move, then make mine.

  Alga vaulted over the bar. A few orcs paused at the doorway, glanced in, and kept moving. My HUD dropped another alert, and I caught the flash of a word: Rage Slash. I had distracted John Wicked, but he was ready for Alga, turning the attack intended for me on her, instead.

  When she charged in, the werewolf’s claws blurred. Alga defended against most of it, a few stray slashes appearing on her arms, oozing red. She drove a push kick into his chest and knocked John Wicked clear out the door. His HP dropped to one as he rolled into the street.

  Smoke curled around his form, and when it disappeared, he’d slipped back into his human body again. His clothes remained torn, smeared with mud. John lay there staring at the sky. Alga dusted off her hands and strolled back around the bar, as if it happened every day. I shot her a glance, then stepped out to the wounded werewolf.

  I held out a hand. He took it.

  “Read your tutorial, bud,” I said, hoisting him up. He was as light as a child, which made me grin. “Follow the green markers.”

  He scoffed. His name floated over his head, the faint red glow unchanging. I’d considered ditching the nameplates, but they were useful. This kid’s hostility smoldered, but he wasn’t dumb enough to swing. Crossing my arms over my chest, I glared at him.

  “Fuck off,” he muttered, brushing his unbroken hand over what was left of his clothes, just smearing mud around.

  “I could slap you, and you’d die.” I held up my hand, grinning wider. Would I get XP if I did? It seemed cruel, but exactly what my avatar would do. Or, what I decided he would do.

  His nameplate turned blue, and he held up his hands, shaking his head, expression fearful. “No, no, I’m going!”

  I took a deep breath, exhaling with satisfaction. Glancing through the door of Bauring Dath, Alga washed the blood off her hands in a bucket. She was real, then, and more taciturn than I was.

  My minimap had more green markers, and my needs weren’t pressing, so I strolled down the dirt road of the orc district and onto the next, passing the mud huts that shared some savannah grasses. I felt restless. Putting tasks on my quest log would help keep me busy. Thinking about what had happened to bring me to Convergent City would just send me flailing. The best way to understand anything was to get out and find facts—not endlessly navel-gaze and speculate.

  The scenery changed drastically, tall savannah grass butting up against brick and brownstone, the dirt road becoming asphalt. I’d found my way back into a human area. A street in New York City bustled as if it were circa 1925. An old Ford puttered by, engine coughing like it had a terminal case of emphysema. I turned to watch it go. People on the street glanced at me warily. At a crosswalk a block away, a boy in a cap and knickers with suspenders waved a newspaper over his head. He was standing on something I couldn’t see through the pedestrian flow.

  I wasn’t the only non-human there; most of the people there looked like they were from the era. As I strolled by a fruit stand, my gaze locked on a sign above it in passing. A hand-painted sign announced HUMANS ONLY above baskets of produce. I kept walking, though my eyes felt stuck in that direction until they were forced to roll too far and snapped back to my destination.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The tutorials only explained a sample of the discrimination between races and factions. I guess it was that way everywhere. Alga beat John Wicked nearly to death. Grabbing people asks for that kind of response, regardless of the situation, but...

  If I wasn’t careful, that could be me, too.

  Approaching the newsie kid in the opposite direction from me, a tall shadowed figure loomed above the berets and fedoras. Its wings peaked another few feet above the demon’s horned head, tucked tightly behind it. Surreal to see a demon in that setting, and that people crossed the street to avoid him.

  Hey. I knew that demon. He was from the Colosseum. His big black wing had smacked my face in the starting zone. I walked toward the marker hovering over the paper boy’s head. We converged there, the demon and I.

  He stood a little taller than me but rail thin, with cloven hooves and skin like drenched firepit ash. Bony nubs crested his intimidating brow, and curving horns grew from his pale hair. He looked intimidating in edgelord black.

  The shy smile he flashed was even toothier than mine. It threw me, the way his face just gave everything away. A demon with his heart on his sleeve.

  “New here, too?” I asked as he clip-clopped up along the sidewalk, his rat-like black tail swishing behind him. At least he’d learned how to keep his big bat wings shut. His nameplate said Kaelen Belial, and his stats were comparable to mine. A few less HP, but his bar was full.

  He glanced down at his hooves and smiled awkwardly. “I—I am. My name is Jake, but, um, Jake the demon seemed wrong, so I’m going by Kelego Belial. I guess. Did you—”

  “Great talk. Let’s do this when we can afford beer, or whatever they drink here.”

  I cut him off. I sucked at being social. It was one of the main reasons I worked at a shipping company in a hub: no customers to pretend to be nice for. Sharing who I was and how I found myself uploaded in the System didn’t appeal, either.

  “What’s the story, kid?” I asked the cherub-cheeked paperboy.

  Jake fell in beside me. I hadn’t meant for the beer comment to be a quest invite, but whatever. I couldn’t turn a kid away; well, pretty sure he was a kid.

  The twelve-year-old paperboy shook his paper at our faces. He was standing on a soapbox, barely coming to our shoulders. He called out, “The Killer Strikes Again! Extra, Extra…”

  I squinted, my right eye twitching. Jake waved a taloned hand and asked, “What task do you need done?”

  “Oh, right. I gotta stay here and shout the news, but I’ve got all these papers to deliver. Can you take them?”

  “A delivery quest, probably timed, with the currency compensation as ten quartz gems.” The demon muttered, giving commentary no one asked for. I let it slide.

  I accepted the job, and my unexpected companion echoed me. As predicted, a timer started. The task on my quest log lit up, along with a dozen markers on the map. A thirty-minute countdown appeared at the bottom of my HUD.

  I bent and snatched up the stack, mentally mapping out the quickest route, and started running. My new legs were strong and longer than my old ones. So far, the trade-in hadn’t been terrible.

  The thought of my old body motivated me. Everything I was doing would get me back to my little apartment with my comfortable blanket and beloved streaming services. A pang of homesickness slowed my steps.

  “C’mon, loser!” Jake laughed, his chuckle low and sharp, skin-cringingly evil.

  I shuddered from the sound, glancing at his face as he raced by. He looked truly happy, and that gave me some much needed heart. I was there, stomping on my conflicted feelings about this crazy situation, but look at that tall spider-limbed demon. That laugh wasn’t faked bravado.

  He was a true nerdtastic gamer, taking our fate like a champ.

  I changed my mind about not teaming up with him. A kid like that might have my back—he might also stab me in it later, too. All rewards came with risk.

  We dashed down the street, the crowd parting for us. Many of the human pedestrians avoided us, hurrying across the street or dipping into shopfronts. At the corner, a shop was our first stop. The scent of doughnuts wafted sweetly from the door, mingling with fresh flowers on display by the granite stoop.

  I bounded up the steps—and whacked my forehead on the hanging sign. My HP dropped two points, and I reeled back, nearly dropping my equipped stack of papers. Jake let out a hideous giggle and ducked inside.

  Getting used to the size difference was beyond annoying. I used to bash my head before I was tall, though, so I didn’t have a real excuse. Forgetting I had a head above my eyes was a thing before becoming a half-orc. Stupid large hitbox.

  I aimed my body squarely, ducking through the open door. A tiny woman in a cardigan sat on a stool beside an old-timey register, the kind with thick buttons that toggled on levers. Her nameplate hovered over her head—Ellie Watson. The counter had jars of hard candy. Shelves contained boxes of Sugar Daddies, Charleston Chews, and others I’ve never seen, like Abba Zaba. Behind the counter, jars and tins of goods lined the sturdy wooden shelves. A glass cabinet held confections such as doughnuts and muffins. I smelled coffee in the air.

  The woman had salt-and-pepper hair neatly pulled back into a bun and wizened eyes that narrowed at us. A puff of exasperation slipped past her thin lips, and she jabbed a gnarled finger at a box by the corner. “Just drop them there, boys.”

  I raised a brow at being called a boy, then reminded myself to expect it. The assumption came with the skin. I made Dathai male because he looked tougher than the female version. My whole plan revolved around blending in and avoiding becoming a target for unnecessary grief. Ha, little did I know how few orcs there were, much less half-orcs. Hadn't seen any of my race type yet.

  We tossed our equipped inventory in the wooden crate. Eleven more papers sat in my inventory, ready to be equipped.

  “Thank you, ma’am. How are you today?” Jake asked, his otherworldly voice rippling in the enclosed space.

  Her brows popped up, and she offered a wary smile. “Fine, thanks. And you, kiddo? You’re new here, I take it?”

  “Yep!” Jake stated, giving her his best fangish smile.

  I tilted my head as I looked at her, then stated with astonishment, “You’re a person, not an NPC.”

  “That I am, kiddo,” she said, watching me with quiet amusement. Then, after a brief pause, she gestured at the candy boxes. “Well, you seem like nice boys. Have a candy bar. Pick what you like.”

  “Wait. That’s a real Transatlantic accent,” I said, frowning as I pieced things together. “We’re from 2025.”

  “From Earth?” she whispered with a note of horror, hand gripping the edge of the counter as if the information almost knocked her off her stool.

  Jake nodded so hard I thought his head would bobble right off his spindly neck.

  The elderly woman’s face had paled and thinned, somehow, as if the knowing of a thing had stolen some of her life force. She whispered, “I’ve been here for a hundred years. My stars.”

  I usually don’t know what to say when a person gets upset or overwhelmed, so I had nothing for a situation like this.

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