The Nation – the zone designed to look most like the outside world, was a crowded mess full of normalcy and strife. Here, those from reality gathered to meet loved ones virtually and exercise a more intimate form of what social media used to be. The capital city in the heart of the zone was thick with users to the point separate instances on each their own server were required for most addresses. For every borough dedicated to exerting normalcy across the Nation, there was a back alley in which the seedier vices were indulged. Users prospered committing crimes that would land themselves in jail for life if committed outside the Hub. There was a lot of appeal here for the repressed.

Dymir had minimal experience with all this but was not defenseless. He had done everything from having virtual coffee with his grandmother to robbing the zone’s casino through an elaborate heist that made his crew millions. While he’d trained with some of the guns and was far from a complete newb, there were sharks in these waters with raptors combing the skies. Wealth here was not measured in spinning rims or gold chains – it was expressed in stealth helicopters and by gangs wielding state-of-the-art tactical weaponry. Suffice to say, one was glad the Nation was contained within the Hub, although its influence over the real world further blurred that line with every update.

Looking into the hostile borough he needed to cross, Dymir saw countless expressions of conflict. Dogfights took place overhead, while at his feet he watched a user get gunned down making a run for the shimmer that drew the line between life and death. A white flag pinned to his lapel meant while his shots would only pass through anyone he targeted, so too was the same for him. The mark of the pacifist was mocked by the hardcore users with violence in their heart, but it was necessary for transit without being tied up with someone looking for an easy kill, and still this precaution would only take him so far.

The Red District was an area ordained such over a decade ago by popular demand. It was the area where no mark could save one from predation. Only the truly powerful could move through, let alone make their home here, and this Phage was apparently one of them. Per their coordinates, Dymir waited on the borders to the Red District, noting clearly how quiet it was on the other side. A limousine appeared, from which three users, all female, all very, very highly levelled emerged and presented an open door to him. It could have been a troll, sure, a ploy to get him to cross so they could gun him down for kicks, but it was easy to tell these avatars had gotten that out of their system a long time ago.

The Red District was too calm for its own good. It was a place where power was flexed long ago, settling into an age established well after the fallout of every real-world war combined. The hierarchy was well defined by a group of syndicates who grinded their way into supremacy. They were ruthless in their criminal endeavours which ran tighter than even the most prominent guilds in the Realm. There were definitely crossover users amongst them, bringing talents in thievery and any other compatible class to the cause.

Property inside the Hub was handled in ways This Earth would never be able to reconcile. Hundreds could live in the same choice apartment, with each resident having their own instance of the domicile to customize to their own tastes. In the Red District, however, one could be rich enough to pay for exclusive rites to an area, but these cases were few and far between. Dymir was driven away from the high rises in the heart of the borough and more towards the base of the winding interchange that drew traffic both to and from it. There was a large tent city beneath the bustle; Dymir noticed that amongst the NPC’s emulating homelessness there were a series of bots as well as low-level players blending in. To have users acting as lookouts meant this syndicate was serious.

He was led to an inconspicuous door, running with streaks of rust, but with something no other door like this had with it. One of the escorts flipped open a panel next to the knob and pressed their thumb to it, opening the door the only way it could be. Dymir had seen his share of criminal enterprises in person and through flex videos users post of their empires, but he had seen nothing like this. In all, the entire structure was larger than any three of the largest properties combined. It was a haven for luxury cars, weapons of war, and as a whole stood as a testament to crime in the Hub’s clearly little-known underworld.

There was work being done here. Crews laboured to drill open bank machines, strip cars, manufacture drugs, and their training facility for robbing banks among other high-priority targets were in full use. The place had was mostly white, sterile, like a lab, without any of the elaborate cosmetics most plastered across the walls and ceilings to give it some personal flair. Dymir had never even heard of a place like this, a place that should have dozens if not hundreds of videos dedicated to tours of its illustrious halls. He was taken to a flight of stairs at the far end which led up to a room lined with one-way mirrors, where oversight over the entire operation took place.

He was prompted to proceed alone, and upon doing so, found himself in a boardroom exactly on the other side of those mirrors. Several avatars were in attendance, sharply dressed, as if in uniform. They stood, leaning in towards the centre fixated on a thick-glassed cylinder standing on a foot of, and capped with technologies not known to exist inside the Nation, let alone the Hub in general. Inside the containment vessel floated an eerie gauntlet Dymir recognized from the Realm. It flickered, struggling to keep from being dissolved by the laws that kept items from other sectors from crossing over. No wonder no one knew about this place – these people were dabbling in crimes that defied the meta.

The figure at the head of the table dismissed the others with a wave. She was a tall woman with platinum blonde hair and skin nearly as pale. Her lips were jet black, as were the entirety of her eyes. She wore a long, fur-collared, blood red jacket over her no-nonsense black suit. It was unclear if she was the actual kingpin or a proxy, but what was clear, was that this was Phage. She produced a small stack of papers from her inventory and slid them to him as he approached, “I’m assuming you know how a non-disclosure agreement works?” She asked, handing him a pen. Dymir had signed enough NDA’s when he was chosen to be in beta testing for new updates. Inside the Hub, the form literally bound him from speaking to anyone about what he saw from this point on.

“This…” He said with all due respect, “Is impressive.”

They shook hands and looked to the encased artefact together, “The metal for the vessel is harvested from a mining deposit found high up in the Spire.” She told him, “We reversed engineered our techniques for item duplication to keep it constituted as opposed to pulling it apart.” He could spend ages gleaming all he could from this untold side of the Hub, “Not only do we test the game here, we change it.”

“I love it.” He said, nearing the glass so he could see the whole operation from an, albeit tentative, position of privilege, “The Nation just became all the more intriguing, that’s for sure.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” she said, commanding his attention once again, “We’re always looking for recruits, and even though you mostly main your activity in the Realm…” She gestured towards the artefact, “Clearly there’s still a place for you with us.” Dymir was in a good guild he never thought he could be tempted to leave… until now, “You’ve been on our radar for some time, Dymir, and whether you decide to join us or not, is irrelevant. I have a task for you.” She tapped against the glass overlooking the operation and suddenly upon it was a detailed, topographical map of the Realm so accurate it was in all three dimensions. She pointed to a spot on the northern tip of the southernmost continent, “Are you aware of this spot?”

“Yes,” He replied, “It’s a deep valley full of mid-level minotaurs and other berserker-type monsters.” After the Spire erupted, the maps underwent bizarre changes, with this valley being one of them. A gate appeared in the deepest reaches of a cave resting well below sea-level, but protected by the natural cliffs rising high overhead. “You want to go to Hell?” Hell was the server players who broke the rules often or severely were sent in lieu of an actual ban. Most people were sent there for a week or a month, and the drab colours coupled with the meager resources set most offenders straight.

“There is rumoured to be a user in a certain server who supposedly has the ability to travel to and from Hell without suffering from the crippling stat penalties put on those sent there.” She told him. The display changed to depict a three-headed wolf whose fur was instead a fine bed of white quills. Trident, guardian of the gate, was a powerful boss that inspired a new brand of fear inside the Hub. If defeated by the gate-watcher, there was a chance the character’s ‘soul’ is devoured, causing perma-death and forcing a hard restart. Since Hell had so little to offer in terms of rewards or experience, very few users ever bothered trying to cross over.

“You want me to join a party to get you to the gate?” He assumed, “I suppose its doable with the right group and I’d have to do some research, tune my build, but ok, I’m interested.”

“I have no way to express how important discretion is for this job,” She told him, “I want it to be just you and me.” She called up the stat penalties inflicted on the Hub’s worst; they were crippling, “Those who’ve crossed over usually get swarmed by griefers and treated like a raid boss, with only bragging rights as the only reward. Your auras and minion mastery would make it take half the server to take us down, and by the time it would take them to gather, we’d be long gone.”

“I’d like to see why you think we can duo a boss like Trident, with our entire stat sheet on the line.” Phage did not look like a person who made a move without a plan and was not surprised to see her browsing the transparent interface for her inventory. He was surprised, however by what she drew from it. A stone from the recently ordained ‘New Martia’, the new planet seen in the sky, so rare and precious so soon after the Sky’s major update content dropped. As it was, no one reported any successful mining from the surface, but when one considered Phage’s secret lair, it could be easily surmised similar operations were present in the other zones. To have been mined, then shipped to the Nation and then Phage’s hands must have cost a lot of money, surely in-game and out.

“Everything inside the Hub is based as much on the real world as possible,” She told him, “The code in every being is more similar to genetics than most people would be comfortable in learning. We’ve determined that this stone, when processed, will put Trident to sleep, letting us pass through without even a fight. When we cross over, into the Realm, I’ll use my alchemy to craft a bait and we should be good to go.”

Dymir thought about the plan and not only what he could earn, but see on his trip to Hell. His NDA would forbid any form of recording or broadcast, so even if he could tell anyone about this adventure, they were sure to not believe it. If he did this, it was for him and only him for a glory he had to keep for himself. “I’m in.” He said almost involuntarily, but for the aforementioned reasons. Phage shook his hand, and her stats and life bar appeared as she joined the party, “When can we leave?”

“Right now would be best.” It was so little warning, but it saved on the crippling anticipation if she answered with anything else.

“Quick break to eat and hit the can?”

“Good idea,” She replied, “We could be there for a while.”

While Dymir sat ‘afk’ in Phage’s office, Vernon peeled away from the Hub and stood from the modified gaming chair he lived his second life through. His prosthetic limbs were held on mounts so close he simply needed to lean into them for the connections to register. Hardcore gaming was an easy way to deny one’s body what it wanted to the point that want became desperate need. Torn between hunger and the washroom, he made for the toilet first while browsing the contents of his fridge through an app on his phone that kept inventory.

Before long, steak and rice were being cooked hastily, while Vernon could keep his thoughts anywhere but in the real world. His adventure with Phage showed him that no matter how hard he played in the Hub, there would always be parts of it that would remain hidden to him behind the threats of perma-death or more foreboding, those who gamed the game. With dinner said and done, Vernon prepared himself for the delve. ‘Gamerpills’ while legal, were a frowned upon, real-life product that suppressed the body’s need for needing, perfect for those marathon runs. Comfortable and satisfied, he laid back in place, trading his prosthetic limbs for his virtual extremities.

It was about to get interesting.

Continue to Part 3-1