《Echoes of Rundan》


 1. Landfall: Chapter One

    Dylan McIver regretted PUGing the latest wing of Vein of Talos in Colossus 4: Online.


    Things had seemed innocent enough, at first. Folks were jumping off the arena when he spawned in, and they were either respawning harmlessly at the entrance behind him, or demanding healers resurrect them since the new tank had arrived. If they accepted the raise, they''d stand up with the standard debuff; however, that didn''t seem to matter to them.


    What was 10% reduced HP and damage to a squishy melee damage dealer?


    But that was business as usual, and something he had come to expect. Pick up groups were filled with little more than nose pickers out for a Sunday stroll. Dylan had been tanking for years in this mess of an MMO, and he was used to these types of shenanigans. He''d herd the cats, get in his attempts, and then log out frustrated and unsatisfied.


    That was the life of a PUG tank.


    There were other little things that were standard operating procedure, too. The group was bitching in chat about the previous tank. Apparently, the Wildskeeper had left in some dramatic huff, from what Dylan could tell. Perhaps he told off a few on his way out.


    Then there was the off tank. At quick glance (without even checking his character profile), Dylan could see the Templar was in basically entry-level gear. He had just shy of 2,500 HP (compared to Dylan''s own 4,800) and Dylan honestly wasn''t even sure how he had gotten past the gear check. Perhaps he had a DPS off spec, and had higher level gear just sitting in his inventory. It was a pretty common tactic, but not one people usually employed for tank spots. There were only two per raid, and so queue times were on the longer side.


    The under-geared Templar still had his aggro aura on, even though Dylan was clearly the more impressive tank. It was a recipe for disaster. Or at least a wipe.


    Dylan had done his due diligence. When he joined, he messaged the guy, asking him to turn off the aura. He also explained how the tank swap mechanics worked, and what they''d need to do in the last phase, since it was a unique mechanic.


    There had been no response. Either the guy didn''t understand how chat boxes worked, or he was ignoring Dylan. The aura stayed on, and Dylan wasn''t even sure he knew how the fight would go. As it stood, this scrub was going to die to the first tank mechanic, and it would cause a massive wipe. Dylan expected the Templar would rage quit immediately after, blaming the healers for not keeping him up, and Dylan for not keeping the boss off him.


    A bead of frustration wormed its way across Dylan''s brow and he thought of just Alt F4-ing.


    But, all said, this didn''t seem like the worst PUG he''d ever been in. The healers were well geared, and so after they lost the idiot Templar, and everyone had a handful of wipes under their belt together, they might actually get a clear on this boss. Then he''d only have two more to do for the week before he got his upgrade piece.


    So, he felt hopeful. Maybe like he was even looking forward to this.


    Until about the four second mark on the countdown.


    Dylan, as the Trella Warrior named Kaldalis, and the Templar ¡°off tank¡± were moving in tandem towards the boss as the counter ticked down overhead. They were angling to both get there first, so that they could get out that initial bit of threat generation. Kaldalis'' slim hooves were in the lead, but it was a close thing.


    But just before his Dash Attack icon lit up, Dylan watched as a single Arcane Arrow flew over his character''s head and found its mark.


    Which just so happened to be the HP bar of the boss.


    A Ranger pull. Of course.


    He should have just let it be a wipe. The boss was already out of position, and it had some very important placement mechanics later in the fight. If the boss stayed in the center of the room, it would just throw off the entire run because no one would know how to react to the mechanics. But Dylan wasn''t going to let the Ranger have the satisfaction of causing a wipe.


    Not if he could help it.


    Dylan could see one chance at recovery, but it would take everything he had. With a frustrated growl he hammered on his keybind for Dash Attack, and Kaldalis deftly closed the gap between the charging boss and the trigger-happy idiot Ranger.


    "Oh no you don''t," Dylan said aloud to the small bedroom slash living room slash kitchen of his studio apartment. "We''re going back."Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Inch by inch, he wrangled the boss back into place.


    The Templar off tank fought him every step of the way. With a gusto usually reserved for, you know, actual tanking, the Templar was casting every spell and using every ability imaginable as he attempted to wrangle the boss out of Dylan''s grasp.


    Even though the boss would then be literally facing the rest of their party.


    "What do you think is going to happen if you win?" Dylan snarled as if the Templar were in voice chat and could hear him. "You''ll just be the cause of the wipe instead of the Ranger!"


    Unsurprisingly, the Templar didn''t stop trying to get aggro.


    But Dylan was too good for that.


    The first tank mechanic went out, and a huge chunk vanished off Kaldalis'' HP bar. He gained a stack of vulnerability, too, which meant he was going to end up taking more damage the next time the ability went out. But he just burned Life Steal and allowed his light attacks to heal himself as he painfully re-positioned the boss. All the while, he danced in and out of the AOE markers that came his way, deftly dodging cones and circular markers that would spell his eventual doom.


    Reno: Hey Dyl, you around?


    The message appeared in his chat box, distracting him for just a second. There was no time to respond to Nakala, also known as Reno, even though she would be hurt that he was PUGing without her.


    He''d just have to deal with it later. There were slightly more important things going on.


    Dylan growled once more as he saw the boss winding up to hit him with a second round of the mechanic. His vulnerability stack was still around, which meant this was going to hurt. A lot. Normally he would have let the off tank take over as soon as that first hit went out, but the daft Templar still had his back to the rest of the raid, and also, he wouldn''t survive the attack anyway. Better to just show off.


    Right before the attack went out, Dylan slammed on his macro for Shield Wall. A bright animation surrounded his character and the incoming damage was mitigated slightly. It still hurt, but nowhere near where it should be.


    For half a second, Dylan looked down at his chat log. Not only did he have more messages from Nakala, but now there was chatter from the PUG raid group about how Dylan was hogging the boss and was going to get them all killed.


    Within a hair''s breadth, the chatter turned mean.


    They were calling him names. Racist and sexist epitaphs. Insinuating things about him and his gender and/or genitalia.


    One of the healers threatened to stop healing him.


    Dylan grimaced.


    Somehow, that was the last straw. An odd exhaustion crept in to his shoulders. And he realized, very quickly, that he was tired. Tired of trying to micromanage the fights. Tired of PUGing for people who were either twelve or had the emotional capacity of a toaster oven. Here he was, trying to do a job none of them were qualified to do, and he was being told that he was doing it wrong. And there was insistence that, by doing it wrong, there was something wrong with him.


    In that moment, Dylan took his hands off his keyboard.


    At first, he thought maybe he''d just sit back and watch the carnage. Without his constant strafing around the boss'' attacks, Kaldalis was done. And then the off tank, and the rest of the raid, would get their wish. The Templar would get the boss'' attention, it would one-hit KO him, and then it would systematically make it around the arena, decimating each person as it went.


    But that didn''t happen.


    Instead, the first positional attack went out since the boss had hit 75% HP.


    All of the characters on the screen were pulled in against the boss¡¯ feet, and a huge pulsing AOE marker radiated from him in a half moon that filled the majority of the fighting space. Dylan wanted to just let it go out with Kaldalis still in it. He wanted to give up, to just let the fight end so that he could log out faster.


    But he was too good at his job. Too proud of his abilities as a tank.


    His fingers defaulted back to their starting position and Kaldalis was moving before anyone else. He led the charge out of the AOE marker, and before the swooping attack finished going across the arena, Kaldalis was already charging back in with a Dashing Strike.


    He zoned out. Ignored the chat and chatter. The hate and the vitriol.


    Instead, he focused on outmaneuvering the mechanics as if he were the only one there.


    A boss fight, after all, was a delicate balance of numbers in, and numbers out. As a kick-ass accountant, Dylan had a pretty good idea of the cost of risk. He could assess a situation from early on and just know, within a hundredth of a percentile, if he was going to be able to pull ahead.


    And this fight? It was in the bag. He had more cooldowns than the boss had attacks. Dylan was skilled at managing his HP recovery tools, and so even if the healers left him to his own devices, he wouldn''t be shit out of luck.  He was also pretty good at resource management, and his rage bar seemed endless.


    That and the normal-difficulty bosses in Vein of Talos were designed for these mouth breathers.


    Dylan almost didn''t notice when the boss staggered and died.


    Solo tanking an encounter, even one at this difficulty level, should have felt like a victory. A rush of pride and self-satisfaction.


    Instead, Dylan felt hollow.


    There was no teamwork here. No overcoming the odds. He had outmatched foe and ally alike, and had beat the challenge... but it was almost too easy.


    As Kaldalis made his way across the arena towards the sad little treasure box that would hold gear too low item level for him to use, Dylan realized he missed his raid team. They''d disbanded due to real life getting in the way too often, but until last patch they''d been unstoppable. And now he was just an over-geared and over-prepared PUG tank. It was embarrassing, and a little demoralizing.


    Upon exiting the raid, Kaldalis spawned back in town. Dylan checked his chat box and saw that Nakala had messaged him a bunch more, each one a little snippier. At first they had been playful, with her pouting about being ignore and then also a little teasing about him PUGing without her. But then...


    Reno: Look, all joking aside, something big is happening. I need your help. Let''s talk tomorrow at work, okay? Smell ya later.


    <Reno has gone offline.>


    Dylan stared at the screen for a long time. What the hell had he missed?

 2. Landfall: Chapter Two

    Nakala had ignored all attempts at communication during the evening and into the morning. In-game mail went cold. Texts remained unread. Even calling her (a serious faux pas in his mind) resulted in no response. It worried Dylan. He didn''t think she was in any sort of danger... she wouldn''t have logged into Colossus and given him a bunch of shit before vague posting and heading out.


    That didn''t mean something wasn''t wrong, though.


    And he had no idea what it could be.


    As he walked into the office at Monsoon Entertainment in the morning, Dylan debated going straight to Nakala''s desk. Sure, there was some big stakeholder meeting today (and rumors of a long-awaited announcement about Project Rundan) and that would mean Dylan would need to wrestle with the copier to get the latest report in Mark''s hands before lunch. But he could spare five minutes, right?


    Nakala likely wouldn''t be in yet, anyway. As a programmer, she had a little more freedom in her hours. No eight-to-five with a mandatory hour lunch.


    But Mark would be watching for Dylan. Or, more accurately, Caroline would be watching for Dylan. She was always in before 8am, and while she pretended that she was working, everyone knew she was secretly recording when everyone strolled in. If you were tardy too many times (and how many were too many was arbitrary), she would happily go to Mark and get you written up.


    Nakala was worth a demerit, but Dylan also didn''t want to test Mark on a stakeholder call day.


    He sent Nakala another text instead.


    You: Hey. I know you''re ignoring me after your cryptic message last night, but I just wanted to let you know I was thinking of stopping by, but I''m worried about the dragon. Lunch?


    He pressed the up button on the elevator, and the bank on the right dinged. Before the doors could open, his phone vibrated in his pocket.


    Nak: Not ignoring. Big meeting. Usual place.


    Sure. Not ignoring.


    And Templars were a functional tank that were far superior to Warriors.


    Smirking at his own joke, Dylan walked down the long, boring, beige-and-white hall towards his desk. The office was quiet, but that was likely due to the big meeting Nakala had mentioned, or the stakeholder meeting later in the day. But what did he know? He was only an accountant.


    With a grimace of determination, Dylan sat down at his computer. He logged into the network, opened his email, and got to work.


    ###


    There was a flashing red light on the button panel. The little LCD error screen reported that there was a paper jam in port. Which port, he didn''t know. The copier wasn''t going to tell him. Not until he opened her up.


    Dylan glanced up at the analog clock on the wall. He had fifteen minutes until lunch, which meant ten minutes to get the printer issue figured out.


    Roxanne, as he had so affectionately nicknamed the office printer, was one of those huge blocky numbers with four different feed trays. It may have once been white when it was new, but that was at least twenty years ago, and the plastic had since taken on a brownish-beige hue that Dylan mentally associated with CRT monitors and mice that had balls in them.


    The printer was the cause of most of his problems. It was a mechanical mastermind that plotted against him (and almost only solely him) whenever he was the busiest. He''d even had to call IT down a few times. They always arrived with the ancient yellowed tome of instructions, as if the archaic error messages like "PC Load Letter" actually meant anything.


    Once, Roxanne waited exactly long enough - just until Dylan had crossed the office to check why it wasn''t printing - before it ruptured a toner cartridge and coated him in black powder from the waist down.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    He didn''t have time to play with Roxanne. But here he was, doing it anyway.


    The first two trays were the easy ones to access, since they popped almost all the way out on their own. Naturally, there was nothing wrong with either of them. It meant he had to go deeper. The third tray was a challenge to check - the tray only slid out far enough to fit new paper inside - and so reaching the interior required opening the side panel, unsnapping the rollers, and carefully pushing everything aside. All one handed, of course. His other hand needed to hold his cell phone as he used it as a flashlight to see what the hell was going on.


    Dylan found nothing. When he closed the panel, the machine beeped, whirred, and then went silent again. The red light flashed once more. On the front, the LCD screen changed from "Tray 3 Open" to "Paper Jam In Port."


    Rage filled him. Dylan contemplated picking Roxanne in some super-human feat and tossing it out the window. Defenestration wouldn''t solve anything, but it would make him feel a hell of a lot better.


    The jam was in the fourth tray. Which was impossible. The fourth tray was the one that held the A1-sized paper that nobody used anymore. He wasn''t printing from that tray. But the machine wasn''t going to listen to reason. Instead, it was going to require him to yank the machine away from the wall, open the back panel, and dig himself elbow-deep into the finest technology the 1980s had to offer.


    "Dylan, do you have that report yet?"


    The soft anger in Mark''s voice made Dylan freeze for just a moment. "Almost. Roxanne won''t give it up."


    There was a thin chuckle and Dylan could hear Mark lean up against the wall. "You know, you''re the only person in this office that has problems with this machine. Do you need me to call IT again?"


    "Honestly, an exorcist might be more help." Dylan swept his hand around in the tray twice more, and then extricated himself from the metal cavity. "If this doesn''t work, I might need to print to marketing again."


    "You know they hate that."


    "Or you could buy me a new printer."


    Mark smiled thinly. "But where would you be without your daily battle against the beast?"


    Dylan rolled his eyes and closed the tray. And then preemptively opened all the other trays and closed them before waiting.


    One of two things was going to happen: Roxanne was going to print the report, or Dylan was going to hit it and hope that somehow solved his problem.


    Once again, the machine beeped and whirred. but instead of flashing its LCD screen at him cryptically, it started to groan to life. Eventually, a handful of pages spit themselves out into the cooling tray.


    "Here," Dylan said as he collected the pages. "I''ve already quad checked, but I won''t feel bad if you want to back me."


    Mark looked up at the clock and grimaced. "I trust you. Either that, or I don''t have time. Your choice." He grinned. "Good work on the report. If this whole thing goes smoothly enough, I promise to give you all the credit you deserve for slaying the beast and saving the day. Maybe if the CFO is impressed enough with it, he''ll give me the budget for a new printer."


    "If you don''t mind, I won''t hold my breath."


    Mark laughed at that, waved the pages in the air, and exited their little hole-in-the-wall towards the elevators. Dylan returned to his desk. He had about fifteen minutes to kill before lunch time with Nakala, and as much as he wanted to just head out early, he could see Caroline watching. So, instead, he loaded up Readthis. The rumor was that Monsoon was going to make some big announcement at the stakeholder''s meeting today. And the biggest thing Dylan knew about was the mysterious Project Rundan.


    Nakala was on the design team. But she''d been absolutely silent about the whole affair, refusing to share even the smallest leak. He wasn''t sure if it was some nasty NDA, or if she really took her job that serious.


    There was nothing new on the internet. No one had any additional news ahead of the meeting, which was pretty rare. Usually an intern leaked a meeting agenda or got a copy of someone''s notes out. But all Dylan could find was some four-hour thread of a countdown. The comments were flooded with people making every possible prediction, from the very likely Teufel 5, to the very unlikely Dreadthorne 2. The more absurd predictions were those that guessed at new IPs. Monsoon had about fifteen IPs under its belt, and there''s no way they''d release a new one when Dreadthorne wasn''t even three years old.


    But he knew the codename was Project Rundan. And Rundas, as the Hittite God of the Hunt, didn''t exactly embody any of the current IPs.


    Dylan tried not to let the hype get to him. Monsoon was his employer, and he already played all of their games. It wasn''t like he wasn''t going to play this one too, no matter what it was.


    But the thrill of discovery was there. Lurking. Chewing on his ability to sit still.


    He glanced up at the clock, and noticed it was about two minutes until lunch time.


    Fuck it.


    He grabbed his coat, and headed off towards the door. On his way out, he flashed Caroline his most winning smile. She glared at him and returned to typing at her computer. Hopefully she wasn''t writing him up, but at the same time, Dylan couldn''t bring himself to care.


    Maybe after Nakala told him what was going on with her, he''d be able to get her to share what she knew. Then at least he''d have something to look forward to while on unemployment.

 3. Landfall: Chapter Three

    He met Nakala at their usual lunch spot. It was a greasy hole-in-the-wall burger joint that was about a block away from the office. He never saw anyone else from Monsoon there, despite its proximity to the office. The place was tucked into an alleyway, nearly invisible from the street. And in a city like Seattle, that was near to impossible. It was a city where hole-in-the-wall restaurants were celebrated. Everyone had their favorite, and everyone seemed to know everywhere.


    The air outside was brisk, but the skies were mostly clear. Just that typical Seattle gloom where the sky looked like the world''s dirtiest cotton pad. It likely wouldn''t rain in any significant way, but the air smelled like dampness and late fall. Another few months, and it would be prime time for skiing.


    There was a sign on the wall outside the lunch spot - just a small burger constructed out of neon tubes. Dylan could see that Nakala was already waiting inside, so he entered and joined her. Opening the front door meant he was assaulted by two things: the overwhelmingly delicious scents of the place, and 90s hair metal playing on the jukebox at a volume that might have been dangerous to his eardrums.


    "Didn''t think you were going to make it," Nakala said with a smile. "Roxanne still putting on the red light?"


    "More like the dragon guarding the door."


    "Ugh. That woman needs to either get some, or get a cat."


    Dylan snorted and shook his head. Because they were frequent visitors of this place, they were seated quickly and not given menus.


    It was a struggle to play it cool. Dylan knew that the stakeholder meeting was just starting. He could open his phone and watch any number of streams about it, but Nakala had something she wanted to talk to him about. If he just started grilling her about the project, it was likely that she would dance around the topic and tease him, and then make him feel like shit later for not helping her.


    But she was uncharacteristically quiet. She sat in the booth and stared at her hands, as if they would give her some sort of confidence boost.


    He gritted his teeth, and waiting for the server to come around so they could order. In typical fashion, Nakala got a double cheeseburger, and Dylan got a chili burger. Both with seasoned waffle fries. It was like half of the reason they came here.


    Once the server was gone, Dylan stared Nakala down. "Alright. If you aren''t avoiding me, let''s talk. What the hell is going on?"


    "Huh? Oh... yeah. It''s... it''s nothing."


    "Didn''t sound like nothing."


    "I mean, okay. It''s something. Fine, you caught me. But it''s not... important. I''ll just... uh... figure it out."


    Dylan furrowed his brow. "Nakala. Spill it. What''s going on?"


    "Did you see the 8.2 patch notes?"


    It was like she had slapped him; the topic change was so sudden and out of left field. "Nakala."


    "I heard there''s a big aggro rework."


    "There is, and you know for a damn fact that I could spent the next hour talking about that instead of whatever''s going on. But then I''m an asshole, and a bad friend. So how about we stop doing this dance before one of us gets hurt, and actually talk about what''s wrong. Is it Pete? Are you guys okay?"


    Nakala laughed, a short chuckle that meant she was caught off guard. "Pete''s fine, but... okay." She took a deep breath and rubbed at her eyes. "Alright. I''ve been trying to think of a way to ask for your help without being a bitch, but I got nothing."


    "You know I''ll help you out with whatever you need."


    "Don''t agree until you know what it is." Her tone was firm and almost sharp. "I can''t just up and tell you what I need, either. It wouldn''t make any sense, and you wouldn''t be able to make an informed decision. I need to explain what''s going on, and for that, you need to know about Project Rundan."


    "Rundan?" Dylan''s heart skipped several beats. "You need help with Project Rundan?"


    "In a way, yeah. I mean... okay, this thing? I know you haven''t heard much, but it''s the biggest, most ambitious thing Monsoon has ever developed. Possibly the most ambitious launch any game company has ever attempted. I can''t share details. Don''t ask. But I can tell you that it''s a huge, persistent game world. On par with some of the crazy shit talked about at cons. Immersive VR-compatible. Top-shelf NPC AI. A single server the size of a city bus. And, on top of it all, Monsoon is going to launch a proprietary streaming service alongside it."This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Dylan stared at her. He didn''t know what else to do.


    Sure, she wasn''t really sharing much with him. Just some high-level stuff. But it was enough. VR-compatible MMOs had become a bit of a craze lately, growing more and more elaborate with every release. A lot of people hadn''t made the jump from traditional MMOs just because the systems weren''t very good. The fact that Monsoon was jumping into the pool with a big splash wasn''t really any surprise.


    But a proprietary streaming service? That was a step too far, even for Monsoon.


    "That''s impossible. Insane, even."


    "Was it impossible and insane when Spigot announced their own distribution platform? Sure. But now Faucet is on every gamer''s PC." Nakala shook her head. "But that''s not important. The streaming service is just the marketing campaign for right now. Project Rundan is going to have a soft beta launch. Big event. Well, huge in terms of marketing and publicity. Participation will be extremely limited, and just in small waves. Invite only, and there''s a trial to get in."


    Dylan nodded. It sounded fairly typical for a Monsoon Entertainment product launch. "Okay, what''s the problem then? You can''t get in?"


    "I have an invite," Nakala said, but her tone was haunted.


    "I''m... not following."


    "I have an invite," she repeated, "and that''s the problem." Dylan said nothing, and after a moment Nakala rubbed at her eyes. "If I go in, I don''t know what going to happen to me. At Halloween last year, someone joked that devs who got in would get torpedoed just to keep us from being a liability. Leaking internal mechanics, exploiting loopholes, you know. That kind of stuff. Just a little joke." She shook her head. "But Lynden turned white as a sheet and he''s refused to talk about it since."


    Dylan tried to imagine Lynden not talking about anything. He was a jovial guy, and loved to gossip. He couldn''t keep a secret or tell a lie to save his life.


    If that was his reaction, it meant something was up for sure.


    "So, obviously, things went from joke to rumor. And with the launch imminent, it''s halfway to conspiracy theory." Nakala looked around and leaned forward. "I was involved with the economics systems. What if what I designed will make me a target for whatever set Lynden off?"


    "I''d say the obvious answer is ''don''t go in,'' but you''re you. I''m guessing that, instead, you have a plan?"


    "The way the systems work," Nakala said, ignoring his question, "there are only a few ways they could really hose me. My guess is I''m going to spend a lot of time staring at the death timer. They''ll tune up my encounters to make fights more challenging, and they can tank my drop rates so that I would have to farm for hours for things people get off of one or two mobs. Basically kill any chance I have at getting in on the streaming system." She winced, almost in afterthought. "I just hope they aren''t just going to have some big purple dragon drop out of the sky and murder me every time I respawn."


    "Do you really think Monsoon''ll do something like that?"


    She winced again. "I don''t know, and that''s really the kicker, right?" Nakala picked at her meal. "Like, okay. I haven''t been avoiding you. Not really. I just... I sent that message last night because I finally got up the balls to talk about things. And then... then I realized I''m being silly. I have such a great opportunity here, right? I''m getting in at the ground level of some of the greatest tech. This should be a fucking joyous moment. And instead, all I can think about is how it''ll fucking ruin my life."


    It was Dylan''s turn to wince. He was seeing a side of his friend usually reserved for conversations about her shitty ex-boyfriend, or about her overbearing mother. You didn''t get this deep over a video game.


    "Whatever. Just ignore me." She finally bit into the fry she''d been playing with. "I''m obviously making some big thing about this shit. It''ll be better for you to not get involved."


    "I could count on one hand the number of times you''ve been wrong about something, especially when its this big. How about you stop being an ass and just tell me what you need."


    "Jesus, Dylan. Alright. Let me tell you what I need, and then you can make a decision like a normal human, instead of trying to jump at an adventure." She laughed and then rubbed the bridge of her nose with the non-fry welding hand. "My invite can be transferred. I mean, I can''t use it right away anyway. Got some work to still finish up. So I''d give it to you. You go in, get some levels, and then when I join in finally you''d be able to help level me up or save me from shitty events or whatever."


    "That doesn''t seem that bad. What''s the catch?"


    "There''s a test you have to take. And that''s... well, that''s about all I can share. You''ll be able to get some random details from the stakeholder meeting notes. But I don''t know what the safe zones are, and so I don''t want to get us both in trouble by telling you something else."


    "Seriously, Nakala?! That''s it? I don''t even know the genre!"


    She picked up another fry as if to throw it, but instead she balanced it between her finger and the plate. "I guess that''s safe. Fantasy-ish. Not like, traditional though."


    "Anything else? Races? Lore?"


    "Jesus, Dylan. I''d love to tell you the whole fucking shebang but I worked on the economy, okay? I worked with some of the teams that did gear and drops, and some transportation systems. But like... I didn''t talk to the writers. I have no idea. And even if I did, I''d likely put you in danger. Like, you see how I''m not telling you about the currency? I don''t want you to be screwed in whatever way I was going to be."


    That gave Dylan pause. "Am I... Nakala, is this dangerous?"


    "I..." Nakala paused. "They''ll tell you the details, so let''s just revisit the ''I can''t tell you anything without putting you at risk,'' clause here, okay? I don''t know what I can and can''t share. Let''s go back to the office. Listen to the call and the streams. Read the speculation. And then... let me know, okay?" She dropped the fry to her plate and wiped her hands on her pants. "I''m not hungry anymore anyway."


    Dylan wanted to reach out and stop her, but she was already flagging over their server, who approached with their checks. They settled their bills, and started to head out.


    "Just... just answer me this, okay? Is Rundan worth all this?"


    Nakala didn''t even pause or look his way. Instead, in a firm voice, she said: "Abso-fucking-lutely."

 4. Landfall: Chapter Four

    They walked back to the office in silence. Riding up the elevator together felt less like two friends enjoying a quiet moment, and more like the silence after a giant storm. Or an argument. Nakala didn''t even say goodbye when the doors opened on her floor; she just flipped him a wave as she walked away.


    Was he the asshole?


    Sure, she''d bent over backwards over the years to help him out in MMOs, but he always reciprocated when he could. Nakala didn''t exactly ask for help often. But this was different. He needed more information.


    He went back to the office to do just that.


    Caroline was missing when he got back to his cubicle, as were most of his coworkers. Still likely out to lunch. Roxanne hummed in the corner, a mechanical sound that grated on his nerves and reminded him of the tinnitus he had after a few too many concussions as a kid. Dylan quickly got his headphones unfolded. On one monitor, he opened a spreadsheet that required his attention. But on the other, he loaded up his favorite streamer.


    Sure, Dylan could listen to the stakeholder meeting itself. But there would be a lot of useless information, and he wasn''t exactly in the mood to look between the lines. He''d let someone else do that for him.


    ZedPies was a long-time streamer of Monsoon games anyway, and he had enough connections that he was likely on the stakeholders call itself. When Dylan joined his stream, ZedPies was on full cam, and was going over some notes with the chat. Even back-translating the investment banker buzzword language into technical gamer-speak that it had likely been written in.


    But there wasn''t much in the notes that Nakala didn''t tell him already. Disappointed, Dylan went to navigate away when someone in chat asked about the VR.


    "Look, it can''t be a helmet," ZedPies said with a laugh. "I know it has to be a helmet if they want it to be open to the public and have enough concurrent players for the game to be literally playable, but look at the rest of this..." There was a rustling of pages and he held up a sheet of indecipherable scribbles to the camera. "Long-term connection. Like... Half... Half of..." He frowned and rustled paper again before holding up a handful of sheets. ZedPies waved them wildly in the air. "Half of the call was about Monsoon being absolved of medical liability. Body maintenance! What does that even mean? No one knows!" He slapped the papers down and the stream wildly shifted from full-screen camera to a ''be right back'' splash screen. "Sorry, sorry. I''m hysterical. Sorry. Hold on." The full-screen camera came back, and then it flashed to another layout, with the camera small in the corner and a browser window open. "Look. Okay, just look at this."


    He ran a search for ''body maintenance VR'' and the results were almost nothing relevant. A few of the top results were about scanning and using VR to do examination for body work on planes and cars. The rest of the results - as ZedPies pointed out as he scrolled - had little grey bits of text that explained that one of the words in his search were excluded. There was a body maintenance guide for VR helmets. A VR system that was literally named Body. And a few pages about homeostasis.


    "Nothing! There''s nothing about what''s going on! About what tech they are using. So, like... are we talking about..." He dropped his voice to a whisper, and Dylan felt himself lean in towards the screen, as if he''d need to hear ZedPies better. "Are we talking about long-term immersion? Literally moving into the game world and living there for days? Weeks? What about years?"


    Chat flew by as a thousand nerds started spamming excited emojis.


    Dylan, however, felt the opposite reaction. Suddenly, Nakala''s feared danger made all the more sense. Immersive VR for MMO games was a scary enough idea - facing down skyscraper-sized foes while your damage taken translated into real pain was absolutely terrifying - but medical intervention? If a lot of time in the stakeholder''s call was spent reassuring investors that they would be absolved of responsibility for any medical mishaps, there had to be a relatively high chance of such a thing happening. It was one thing to stand with Nakala, spending time and energy to help her out. But it was another thing entirely if he was literally putting his life on the line, just so that when she got into game, she was slightly less inconvenienced.


    Hypothetically speaking.


    Since she didn''t even know if it was a real issue.


    While he was musing, ZedPies had moved on. "We can''t learn anything more here," the streamer was saying. "What about the rest? What else do we have?"The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The stream flipped around again back to full screen, and ZedPies proceeded to ramble on about other reveals from the stakeholder meeting. There was an announcement of a new Teful property, and there was plenty of speculation there.


    Dylan, however, was still stuck on the medical implications of Project Rundan.


    As much as he was excited by the prospect of a full-immersion VRMMO, there was a reason that most of the popular VR games were little more than walking simulators or virtual concerts. Or, ah... the other thing.


    Any tactile sensations those games fed to you were mild, pleasant, or otherwise expected and desired. In a combat setting, some of the sensations were going to be violent and painful. And it would be made even worse by the game being in beta. Like, it was one thing to lose progress and time when your character clipped through the ground or a wall in an MMO. It could even be funny or lead to some interesting exploits. But it was another thing entirely if it might mean that your nerve endings light up like a Christmas tree of pain. That wouldn''t be funny, even if it happened to someone else.


    At the same time, the opportunity that Nakala had opened up to him suddenly became ten times larger. This was no longer getting into a video game beta. It was participating in an enormous technological leap. Not bragging rights for playing in the beta for the next big Monsoon game, this was bragging rights for being a part of a world-changing tech demo.


    And, if Dylan were honest with himself, it was everything he always wanted. He was an avid fan of LitRPG and GameLit books. Mostly in audio book format, since he could listen to them and go on adventures while editing spreadsheets. But this sounded just like something that would happen to one of those protagonists. Would he really give up the opportunity to become the protagonist in his own awesome adventure?


    The rest mattered, too. In Colossus 4: Online, Nakala had a bunch of discontinued cosmetic items from version 1.0 and other events in the pre-expansion game, and she was always showing them off. If Project Rundan - whatever the retail name ended up being - was the next big thing, he might spend similar years being jealous of someone else''s cosmetic pet or awesome hat, made all the worse by knowing that he could have had them if only he hadn''t been such a... such a...


    Such an accountant.


    Dylan gritted his teeth and tried to not dwell on that. Cautiousness and prudence were things he associated with his job. He found he was good at something that was in reliable demand. Instead of chasing dreams, learning guitar, taking drama classes, or writing a novel, he just took the sure bet and learned a lot of math.


    But if he was going to just let this opportunity pass him by, he''d be much more the accountant than the adventurer.


    ZedPies had mentioned that beta testers'' time in game could be extended for weeks or months - even years - and Dylan didn''t have any other plans besides work. It wasn''t even like he had a raid group anymore - they had split up two patches ago, and while there were people that he regularly grouped with for PUG content, he didn''t have any real obligation to them. His closest family - his sister Kim - had moved out of state two years prior, and so she wouldn''t miss him.


    He hadn''t even made holiday plans since she''d left.


    Dylan stared at the spreadsheet he had open on his other monitor as ZedPies droned on about some new grouping tech for Colossus 4. The launch also included a streaming service. Being a full-time streamer had been a dream for a lot of gamers. And launching the service would mean he''d be one of the first with eyes on him. Dylan had spent some time streaming his raids, and had a lot of fun with it, but developing a real following was hard work, and it had been a task he had been unprepared for.


    Fuck it.


    He opened the Groups app on his computer, pushing ZedPies¡¯ stream to the background. Nakala''s name was at the top of his contacts, and he opened the chat window. The history was full of memes and linked websites with no context. Very work appropriate stuff, too.


    I''m in, he typed. Dylan stared at the message for a long moment, not sending it. What''s the timeline? Where do I go? When do I need to be there? he added, but still hesitated before sending the message. This isn''t going to kill me, right? He winced, and then hit the backspace key, replacing it with: This is safe, right? There was another moment of hesitation. How long would I be in this?


    He grimaced and took that last bit out. She likely wouldn''t share, or couldn''t share, or whatever.


    Reading back over his message, Dylan realized how... unsure it sounded. How... how... accountant. Questioning and hesitant. Accessing the risks before they''d even happened.


    He erased the whole damn message and started again.


    Alright, Nakala, you got me. This is too big. I''m in. Just tell me what details you can. Like... where do I go, who do I talk to, when do I need to be there, etc.


    As soon as he finished sending the message, Groups alerted him that Nakala was typing... which was embarrassing as hell. She''d likely been watching him waffle over his decision and wording for the last five minutes.


    What she sent, however, wasn''t in text. It was an image. An invitation. A watermark ran across the whole thing, almost obscuring it. A common tactic to stop things from being leaked, since they could trace the number watermark and it would lead to that specific person. It wasn''t a promotional image. There was no screenshots or concept art. There wasn''t even title art. It was clean and clear cut, and very no-nonsense. Honestly, it made the whole thing so terrifyingly real and official.


    It was just an invitation. "Welcome to Project Rundan," it said. And then beneath it was a date, time, and an office number.


    Tonight. Just after work. A few floors up from right where he was sitting.


    "Gotta go fast, I guess," Dylan muttered, realizing that he wasn''t going to have any time to change his mind. He was sure he wasn''t going to regret this at all.

 5. Landfall: Chapter Five

    The rest of the day seemed interminable. Spreadsheet after spreadsheet, interspersed with trips to Readthis to check for any further updates. He hoped for a more substantial leak, but no such luck. There were three different threads that exploded about the streaming service, each one flooded with people asking about the future of Itch and YouCylinder in the wake of Monsoon entering the arena. Each time, it devolved into little tribal arguments. Some people pointed to the wild success of Behemoth: Heroes of Colossus in the face of much more popular and established trading card style games. Others pointed to the bungled launch of Torrential Legends and how it failed to break into the entrenched MOBA market. There was a lot of surprisingly insightful discussion, even if it was from armchair market researchers and not industry experts.


    Regardless, there were no useful details to be found. It was more controversy and complaint than even speculation, let alone real leaks. But that was the Readthis dilemma: he kept refreshing the page hoping for one thing, and then lost fifteen minutes digging through the comments of something else entirely. Dylan just had to remind himself that he was going to be one of the first people into Project Rundan. He had an invite. No matter what he couldn¡¯t find out now, he was going to learn before almost everyone else.


    It almost didn¡¯t seem real when he realized it was already ten to five. He logged out of his workstation and stared around his desk. He supposed he could bring his messenger bag with him, but he was unlikely to need it for whatever the supposed test had in store. All he had in there was a couple of books and a day planner, along with a handful of junk trinkets he hadn¡¯t bothered to take out of the bag since he was in college. He made sure to grab a spare pen off his desk before he left for the elevator, and he brought the small sticky note where he had written the office number. Otherwise, he was near empty-handed as he got into the elevator, with only what was in his pockets.


    A part of him deep down railed at himself that he might need something else. What if this was like a litRPG story, and he would have to survive in the wilds after being magically transported to a game world? Wouldn¡¯t he want the weird multi-tool he¡¯d gotten from his dad that rattled in the bottom of his bag, untouched for years? Maybe the planner would be vital to his survival, giving him paper he could use to start campfires. Or maybe the act of being transported would turn the fiction books into powerful spellbooks, giving him a head-start on progression.


    Those thoughts were ridiculous, though, and he dismissed them easily. Even if the end result was being completely thrown into a fantasy world, he was being sent there figuratively, through VR. He wasn¡¯t going to be physically transported there - much less magically so.


    The elevator ascended to the floor where he anticipated the testing to take place. The office number he¡¯d written down was 1307 - the seventh office on the 13th floor. The numbering system wasn¡¯t perfect, since he didn¡¯t know where the seventh office would be, but they were usually clearly labelled, with a directory near the elevator bank.


    The elevator opened and Dylan stepped out into something out of a linear corridor shooter. Instead of a lobby or a branching hallway, the elevator opened into a small room, maybe fifteen feet on a side. It looked like someone¡¯s office, except for the bank of elevators against the wall behind him. There was a standing desk on one side of the room with a man behind it, and a door just off to his right on the far wall. Dylan blinked, confused, and looked down at the sticky note attached to his hand along his index finger.


    ¡°Um,¡± he said, his default way of getting someone¡¯s attention when he didn¡¯t know their name. ¡°Is this office 1307?¡±


    The man gestured Dylan over without looking up from his computer. ¡°Project Rundan?¡± he asked.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dylan said, ¡°is this the right place?¡± He looked around. There was another door against the right wall that had a glowing green exit sign - probably a mandatory guidance to the fire stairs - but otherwise this was just an office. There was a shelf behind the desk with a bunch of ledgers lined up, and a filing cabinet within easy reach.


    ¡°Yup, this is the place.¡± He looked up at Dylan, and the accountant got the impression that he was being judged somehow by that look. ¡°Do you have an invite?¡±


    ¡°Um. Yeah. Did I need it?¡±


    ¡°I need the QR code from the bottom corner of it.¡± He glanced down at the sticky note on Dylan¡¯s hand. ¡°If you don¡¯t have it, you¡¯re going to have to go and fetch it.¡±


    Dylan wasn¡¯t about to return to his desk and wrestle with the printer again, so he pulled up the Groups app on his phone. ¡°Hold on. I have to re-download it.¡± He laughed nervously. ¡°You know how Groups can be, right?¡± It took a long time to download - for some reason, his phone was using data instead of the company wi-fi, and his reception was crap. But he told himself he was in too deep now to try and figure out the problem. ¡°Just another minute. Sorry. I didn¡¯t know I would need it.¡±


    The man didn¡¯t roll his eyes, but Dylan could feel the mild aggravation as he finally pulled up the invite image, and scrolled the screen of his phone to the bottom corner, where there was a QR code. The man took Dylan¡¯s phone and held the code up to a device attached to his computer.


    "You don''t look like a Nakala."


    Dylan grimaced. "She''s a friend of mine. On the development team? I''m... I''m an accountant here. She gave me her invite."


    The man watched him for a long moment. Dylan knew he could see Groups in the background, and Nakala''s name and picture in the corner. Did he think he was trying to pull one over on them? Sneak in? Eventually, the man at the desk clicked his tonuge against the roof of his mouth.


    ¡°Alright. Head right in,¡± the man said, handing Dylan back his phone.


    Dylan¡¯s anxiety spiked as he walked past the man to the door behind the desk. Was this a trick? Was security about to jump out and yell ¡°Gotcha!¡± because he was using Nakala¡¯s invite? Or was she in trouble herself from telling him too much?


    Or - the most likely scenario - he was overthinking everything because he just stepped into what seemed on its face a life changing opportunity.


    The room beyond the door was something of a presentation room. There were about two dozen chairs lined up around the room before a little raised platform with a projector screen on the side wall. The only difference from similar presentation rooms in the building was the mirror against the back wall, making him anxious about who was on the other side of it, observing.


    Two people were already in the room, and while they both looked up when he came in they went right back to playing on their phones when it was apparent that he was one of them - another participant - and not an authority figure here with additional instructions. Dylan supposed he just had to join them in sitting down and keeping busy until the first phase of this testing got underway. He took a seat near the front, as it was slightly more convenient.


    Unlike the others already present, instead of opening a mobile game, he instead plugged his earbuds into his phone and started up his audiobook app. He was grateful that he¡¯d downloaded the whole book instead of streaming it, since in this room his phone was even more ill-behaved than in the office outside; he didn¡¯t even have reception here. It occurred to him that this room - and perhaps the entire floor - was shielded from cell reception and wi-fi signal to secure any proprietary information that might be presented here.


    The audiobook let him stay alert and aware of his surroundings as he passed the time. As he listened to a pleasant female voice describe a paralyzed woman navigating a survival game world run by a megalomaniacal AI, he took note of the unfolding events around him. People filed in one at a time, the pace picking up around five after five. A few people started quiet conversations, but in this modern world, most people just pulled out their phones and tried to keep busy.


    He was, unfortunately, just starting to get into the book - the voice actor doing the read was fantastic - when a man mounted the raised area of the room and clapped his hands to get everyone¡¯s attention.


    ¡°Alright everyone, I¡¯m Aaron Stevenson, production director for Project Rundan,¡± he announced as Dylan tucked his earbuds back into his pocket. ¡°And if you''re here, it¡¯s because you¡¯re about to participate in a historic event in Monsoon¡¯s path to the future.¡±