The girls were waiting just outside the motel—Mall sitting on the ground, Sern poking a shimmering blue bubble, which had enveloped her entire body. As I moved closer, the bubble scooped her into the air and popped, dumping her at my feet with a flare of energy.

  [{Serenity} has wandered too far]

  “Finally,” Mall groaned. “Stupid game.” She looked me up and down, frowning to herself. “You do have money, right?”

  “A little,” I admitted, showing the rings on my hand.

  “Good.” She ripped them off. “I’ll be managing our budget.”

  “---But that’s all the money I have—” I blurted.

  Mall silenced me with one hand, before gesturing to Sern. “This little angel right here deserves every iron in the world. Isn’t that right, Sern?”

  Sern shook her head.

  “Not much confidence…” Mall muttered, clicking her tongue. “No matter. A good dress can do wonders for a girl’s self-esteem.” She took Sern by the arm, and the two sprinted down the street. They looked like they were having fun. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

  Though this little errand had once again dashed my hopes of new stats, since I strongly doubted we’d have a single ring by the end of it all.

  I followed behind, ever so marginally reluctant.

  Mall cheered, stopping by a large medieval store, marked with wide pink strips of cloth around its sides. Somebody had thought it appropriate to add a comically massive bow to the top, beside an equally large pair of scissors, which had to be some sort of safety hazard.

  Mall squeezed Sern’s hand, beaming, and before I had the time to stop her, she gave an order.

  “Follow me!”

  Instantly, Sern’s eyes frosted over, and she walked beside Mall with perfect, inhumanly methodical steps.

  Mall froze. “Huh?”

  When she moved, Sern did too, and in unison.

  I grabbed Sern by the shoulder and gave her a good shake, until her eyes flickered back to normal. “Don’t order her around,” I snapped. “She’s not technically a player, so she’s forced to obey any instruction given to her.”

  “Even by other players?” Mall asked.

  “To some extent.”

  Mall groaned. “Well that sucks. No wonder she’s got so little self-confidence.” She glanced back to Sern. “Is this a curable sort of thing?”

  “I hope so,” I sighed. “It’s best to phrase everything more or less like a question. Sern, could you follow Mall?”

  Before I’d finished talking, Sern had the door cracked open, hustled inside, well ahead of Mall.

  Mall nodded. “Questions. Got it.”

  I started after her, but Mall shoved me back.

  “A dress shop is no place for a gentleman,” she huffed.

  I squinted. “We have to be together. Otherwise she can’t move—”

  “There’s a range of about six hundred feet,” Mall stated, shooing me away. “She’ll be fine. Go sit on a bench and twiddle your thumbs or something.”

  She slammed the door, and I was suddenly alone in the middle of the street, without a ring to my name.

  Twiddle my thumbs?

  Mall seemed nicer last life.

  Thankfully, there was a little bench right beside the dress shop, overlooking a small pond, where ducks swam. An older gentleman sat nearby, humming it himself, occasionally glancing around the water.

  When I came over, he glanced up.

  “Hey, friend,” he said, grinning. “Woman troubles?”

  “Sort of,” I mumbled. “Nothing too bad. It’s just a little boring.”

  Honestly speaking, ‘gentleman' was a bit of an exaggeration. He was a beggar, and in pretty rough shape at that, with a broken hat and ratty clothes not unlike Sern’s. But he seemed nice, and polite, so gentleman it was.

  “Well I’ve got just the place for you!” He laughed, slapping his knee. The beggar jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, to a bar just across the street from the dress shop. “Now that’s a man’s place! I’ve got a friend there. Tell ‘em, ‘Bernard sent you.’”

  The beggar—whom I assume was Bernard—sighed, clasping his hands.

  “I don’t drink,” I shrugged. “Dignity is easily lost and hard to earn.”

  For a moment the man was silent.

  “Hey friend,” he said, grinning. “Woman troubles?”

  I blinked.

  “Well I’ve got just the place for you!” He laughed, slapping his knee. Bernard jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, to a bar just across the street. “Now that’s a man’s place! I’ve got a friend there—”

  “---Tell ‘em, ‘Bernard sent you?’” I asked, speaking over him. “And I don’t drink, but thanks for the invitation.”

  He sighed, hands folded back together, suddenly still, and silent. Almost dead.

  “Bernard?” I squinted.

  “Hey, friend,” he said, grinning. “Woman troubles?”

  “You’re not a player, right?” I asked.

  “Well I’ve got just the place for you!” he laughed, slapping his knee.

  “You can hear what I’m saying, can’t you?”

  Bernard jabbed a thumb over his shoulder, to a bar, just across the street. “Now that’s a man’s place.”

  “And you've got friends there?”

  “I’ve got a friend there. Tell ‘em, ‘Bernard sent you.’”

  “Are those the only lines you can say?” I asked.

  Bernard sighed, clasping his hands together.

  “Bernard, look at me.”

  His eyes frosted over, and he stared me in the eyes, motionless and expressionless.

  I swallowed hard. “Snap out of it.”

  He blinked, then grinned. “Hey friend—”

  “BERNARD! SAY SOMETHING ELSE!” I screamed, grabbing him by the shirt and hefting him into the air. He shuddered for a moment, before breaking back into a wide grin.

  Bernard jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Now that's a man’s—”

  I stormed off before he finished the line, sulking in a shadowy corner.

  Once I left, Bernard blinked, and went back to watching the park. A few moments after that, he was humming again, idly tracing the movements of the ducks. Even once the ducks left, he was still humming, and still watching.

  Two sentences. His entire cycle was two sentences long.

  My hands began shaking, and I laid them down, only to find myself with fistfuls of torn grass.

  I took a slow, deep breath.

  Why’d I care, anyway?

  He was just some Npc. That was his job, and he seemed happy doing it. But was he? I doubted Bernard was even conscious. He didn’t think, or feel, or act. He just went through the motions, following a close script.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  That’s what Asiel meant when she said, “They’re not people.”

  People have some functional amount of free will. Npcs are closer to robots than anything. Good, hyper realistic robots, but still robots.

  I bit the inside of my cheek, stewing over what I knew, and how I felt.

  There was one difference between an Npc and a robot. It’s not that an Npc isn’t a person, it's that they can’t be. Some Npcs are physically incapable of making their own choices. The ones that are, like Sern, can only make choices within an acceptable margin.

  She’s as much a slave as she was before. No choices. Just actions.

  What’d that mean for monsters?

  My head started hurting, so I stopped for a moment, just to be, and to breathe.

  “I hate this place,” I whispered.

  The beggar sighed, clasping his hands.

  At least, when left alone, he didn’t have to talk to anyone. But maybe he liked a little company? I can’t imagine much fun would come from total and utter solitude.

  I got up off the ground, brushing dirt from my jeans, and walked over. “Sorry I was rough.”

  He grinned. “Hey, friend.”

  “It’s been nice meeting you.”

  “Woman troubles?”

  “You’ve got no idea,” I said, with a sad little laugh. “Thirty minutes waiting and I’m losing my mind. Worst part? I think it’ll be another couple hours.”

  “Well I’ve got just a place for you,” he laughed, slapping one knee. Bernard jabbed a thumb over one shoulder, toward a bar just across the street. “Now that’s a man’s place. I’ve got a friend there. Tell ‘em, ‘Bernard sent you.’”

  He sighed, clasping his hands.

  Is drinking common here? There’s a lot of bars, and they always seem full. Perhaps the only way to escape the power of this game is to forget, or to stop caring.

  I walked away, back toward the dress shop.

  Mall smashed the door open, splintering the wood with her heel. She screamed, grabbing her head, and stormed over to me with Sern close behind, still wearing her rags.

  “GRIND! FIGHT THEM!”

  I blinked. “What—”

  “You heard me, didn’t you?” Mall hissed, getting way too close to be comfortable. She stopped, kneeling beside Sern to scoop her into a motherly hug. “Those monsters!”

  I put two and two together. “She didn’t get a dress?”

  “Didn’t get a dress?!” Mall scoffed. “We didn’t get a thread of fabric! One glance at Sern and the dressmakers shoved us out of the building!”

  “Just one glance?” I started doing the math. “So why’d it take so long?”

  “I’m horrendously stubborn,” Mall snapped, before she continued. “Of course I started arguing, then I did raise my voice a little, and she went full blank-eyed, muttering about local policy over and over again. I–just—GAGH!” She screamed into her purple sweater.

  Sern huddled on the ground, covering her pointy ears with her hands.

  “Couldn’t we just…” I frowned, thinking. “Couldn’t we buy a dress, without Sern with us, then just give it to her?”

  Mall glared. “How dare you. We will get your darling angel daughter a dress that fits her. No less! Besides, that was just one shop. There’s bound to be a couple others, isn’t there? Grind?”

  Mall started saying something, and I nodded, watching the beggar on the bench. A hand tapped me on the shoulder.

  I jolted. “Uh?”

  “I’m asking who that guy is,” Mall asked, with a scowl. “Looks questionable. Did you become buddies or something?”

  “Sort of,” I said, smiling back.

  “You’re a weird guy, you know that?” Mall sighed. “And in the future, you’re coming into the shops with us.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you just say—”

  She cut me off, gesturing toward Sern. “If anyone says this girl is unfit for a dress, you whip out that shovel of yours and beat them into a fine paste. Understood?”

  “I am not beating anyone into a fine paste.”

  “Coward,” Mall grumbled. “But I suppose murdering would set something of a bad example. Well, if you’re around, with your shovel and stats out then I’d imagine they’re going to be a lot more cooperative.”

  They were not.

  The first dress store—a building near the town square twice the size of the last store—wouldn’t even let us in, much less buy anything. The same went for stores two and three. Four was a little better than the others we’d been too, but we got chased out all the same.

  Mall sighed, crossing another store off a pocket sized map of the city. “This is a total bust,” she hissed. Her hair, usually clean and straight, was all frazzled from screaming and shouting with the last dressmaker, and she kept pulling on her sweater for air.

  “It’s not so bad,” I stated, leading Sern along with us. “We’ve still got one store left.”

  “Urok’s Battle Emporium?” Mall groaned. “There’s a lady-like syllable in that entire name.”

  “If anybody’s going to let a ‘monster’ wear a dress, it’ll be someone with a name like Urok,” I said, trusting my gut.

  The store was coming up, just down the street, littered with broken weapons and the occasional plume of fire. “Besides, you never know. Perhaps he’s a fabulous dress maker.”

  Mall scoffed, pulling the door open.

  Hundreds of bright grey and black dresses stood in rows, beside a little counter in the back. There were rows of suits—matching the dress—and beyond those, the majority of the store, where piles of weapons, gear, and miscellaneous armor had been sorted into large barrels. But it were those dresses that stole the show, embroidered with overlapping patterns of silk and plate armor, with different blends of metal to create sparkled gradient coloring, in deep blues and purples.

  Mall sniffed arrogantly, fluttering one of the dresses on display. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Excuse me?” Urok grunted, arms crossed. He was human—mostly—just with a bit of an underbite, and with the posture and musculature that’d get Greek gods frothing at the mouth. He was also easily twice the size of me and four or five times the size of Sern. and, should he get hungry, could probably eat the two of us as a light snack.

  Urok sighed. “It has become apparent that you know nothing about dressmaking, strange girl."

  Mall scowled, looking him up and down. “I know a little.”

  He took a black dress into his hands, then yanked on the cloth.

  {Urok}

  [5Str 10 Hp]

  He twisted, increasing his stats to the point that the entire shop began shaking.

  {Urok}

  [500 Str 1000 Hp]

  The cloth still wouldn’t tear.

  He let go, nodding to himself. “These are battle dresses flexible enough for dancing and able to stop any sword, axe, or arrow in the nameless lands, on my honor. They won’t stain easily, but if it does happen, light them on fire and they’ll be freshened up without issue.” He pulled a spool of thread from a nearby stand, turning them over in his hands. “This batch of dresses and suits are made from HuskPig hide, corded and woven by yours truly, then bleached in the stomach acid of the great Airocoil, and dyed in the bracken blood of MudWolves.”

  “Yeah that sounds great,” Mall grunted, “But I’m not so sure about a ‘battle dress—’”

  “Safety is key,” I said, cutting her off. “She’ll be in the dungeons.”

  “Then might I recommend Wyvern pate’ spitmail?” He asked, pulling a double layered dress, with silvery fabric and bright sparkly silver and purple-tinted sequins in an elaborate pattern of flowers simultaneously serving as art and an extra layer of defense for vital areas of the body.

  Sern reached for the dress and shoved her face into the sequins.

  Urok cleared his throat, a sound not unlike a car starting. “Might I add, today these are also fifty percent off?”

  “Fifty percent is pretty good,” I said, with a whistle. “How much?”

  “Two gold rings.”

  Mall glanced at the iron and bronze rings in her hands. “Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it.”

  Urok sighed. “Shame.” He set the dress back on the rack, pushing it aside. “If you’re looking for a more affordable, practical option, then might I recommend an enchanted smoothwool dress?”

  Mall squinted. “Enchanted?”

  “One size fits all,” he said, with a grunt, holding it up to Sern. There was a sparkle of energy, and the strands contracted, until it would fit on her. The sleeves were too big, and the skirt was too long, but those could be trimmed.

  “Smoothwool?” I asked. “Is that another monster?”

  “Just some sheep, I’m afraid,” Urok muttered. “Not particularly impressive, but their wool is remarkably soft and reasonably strong, though it won’t be stopping arcane magic. It is, however, affordable above all else.”

  Sern sat crisscrossed on the ground, kneading the soft white fabric of her dress.

  “I’d say she rather likes it,” Mall stated, smiling. “Please tell me it’s a reasonable cost.”

  “I’ll cut you a deal.” he said. “Four iron. Five for an enchanted dress.”

  Mall frowned, counting the money in her hand. “Grind? Does that sound reasonable?”

  “How should I know?” I muttered. “We came for a dress, so let's get her one. Unless you want to find another store?”

  “No, no, this’ll be fine,” Mall sighed. “You’ll get her a better dress sometime later.”

  Five iron was a lot—a sixth of our money for one dress—but I’d been expecting more. Mall led Sern to the back, to help her put the dress on, and, as before, I stayed behind. Alone. Again.

  This time, however, I was in a battle emporium.

  Urok grabbed my shoulder. “Wanna blow something up?”

  My eyes sparked. “You mean it?

  He gestured to the barrels of weapons beside the stone, and to a couple sticks of dynamite beside those. “This is a battle store, isn’t it? It’s a shopkeeper's duty to keep the customer happy. Besides, I’ve got free samples of every major brand of explosive.” He pointed to a stack of flour bags, curdled painted with a face of some miscellaneous beast. “The store rebuilds itself at the end of the day, so go wild, little man.”

  I bolted over and began selecting the most dangerous and irresponsible piece of equipment I could get my hands on.

  After a bit of searching, I stumbled across a serrated axe twice my size with several fireworks strapped to the end.

  Crapshovler bristled in jealousy.

  “Let me have this, I muttered.”

  There was a chime, and a couple walked into the store, to whom Urok immediately offered his services.

  “Oh hey!” A remarkably snobbish voice called from over my shoulder.

  One of the couple shoved him aside pointing in our direction.

  “It’s that guy!”