The monster howled with uneven teeth when it had Alan in its sights.
"Dammit! It’s creating more just by moving," Alan said aloud to his partner. "We have to lure it away from this place before another special one spawns. Now!"
The female NPC standing by his side listened attentively, but did not move from her position nor suggested a course of action.
Alan frowned at her. "W-What is it, Anastasia? You were very proactive just a moment ago."
"I’m currently on Docile Mode, Master," the digital woman said in a flat tone. "You told me that while in this state, I must not—"
Something large shoved her out of sight. A second later, Alan heard something crashing into another establishment on the opposite side of the ramen restaurant.
"A-Anastasia!"
Goddamn! I was careless!
The young man looked up, finding the long-eared monster looming over him, already raising its mole-like claws.
Alan had time to react.
His reflexes had sharpened the moment he logged back in—like muscle memory that never really left.
His instincts revealed two options: either block with his sword, which he could conjure in his palm in a second, or dodge entirely and run.
He could not perform both.
Just milliseconds before it was too late, an imaginary scene of him getting crushed under the weight of that enormous paw as he tried to withstand the force of the Werebunyard flashed in front of his eyes.
Blocking?! What was I thinking?!
He jumped to his left, and while in midair, equipped his sword—its hilt snapping right into his grasp—and made a horizontal slash. All in one second flat.
The Werebunyard was cut in the arm just as its claws dug into the cobblestones Alan had left behind.
Its blood would normally streak the pavement red, instead, it splattered across five surrounding Bunyards that quickly dispersed into the white chaos.
The creature hissed, more in annoyance than pain. Its HP bar barely dropped visibly.
A scratch. That was the best Alan could do to a monster that outleveled him five times over.
But Alan was not trying to fight it.
The Werebunyard turned to him, slowly stepping out of the horde.
"That’s right, you overgrown fluffball, come and get me!"
He ran toward a deserted street without looking back, wondering if Anastasia was all right.
"Minion Status," he said aloud, and a system window appeared inside his field of vision. The most important part was her HP bar. She had taken quite a blow, losing 30% of her life.
Ah, thank goodness. We’re not done yet. We’ve already killed one of these things while entering the town. Well… We caught it by surprise. But still! We just have to regroup and—
Alan saw a shadow fall in front of him, followed by a tremor and a strenuous bang. Dust was raised and pebbles hit his face before he realized that the Werebunyard had shortened the distance by jumping over him.
"Aww, shit!" Alan cried, locking eyes with that furious red gaze.
A quick thought crossed his mind as he contemplated death.
Did I even save in this town? I… I can’t recall—ah, right. The fountain over there was not responding when I tried.
His fist tightened around the sword’s hilt, feeling sweaty, and he wondered if his last trick—rolling and cutting—would work again.
No choice, anyway.
The Werebunyard pounced for a swipe before a metallic, gleaming object impacted it in the left shoulder, stopping it.
It was Anastasia’s battle axe.
The NPC wearing a maid outfit then appeared before Alan’s eyes, kicking the axe’s hilt with her sole so it would sink deeper into the Werebunyard’s flesh.
She snatched the weapon once gravity pulled her down.
"Master, are you okay?" she asked, anxiety bleeding into her voice. Her violet eyes showed a wild gleam comparable to their enemy.
"Anastasia, did you just throw your axe?!"
"Yes. I saw you throw your sword once, and it proved to be quite effective."
Alan felt the heat rise to his cheeks.
"I—I had to improvise that one time—and it’s quite embarrassing that you remember that," he muttered the last bit.
"Would you like me to forget this tactic then?"
"NO! IT WAS AWESOME! Add it to your repertoire, please!"
"Unders—"
The Werebunyard shrieked, as if demanding not to be ignored—blood still pouring from its wound.
Alan checked its HP bar. That attack had chipped away 20% of its life.
It lunged forward and the two dodged to their sides.
"Jeezus! That was close!"
"Get back, Master! Take cover in one of the buildings. I got this," Anastasia urged.
Alan backtracked, but did not enter any of the abandoned houses in the area. After putting some distance between them, he turned back and glared at the monster.
It’s already mortifying that someone else is fighting my battles, so no, I won’t hide!
The fight resumed.
Enraged, the Werebunyard commenced a barrage of swipes which Anastasia could barely dodge.
The relentless claws destroyed house doors, made windows wider, and went through walls as if they were made of cardboard.
Alan finally understood why the town was in such a ruined state.
His focus then turned to the NPC. A stark streak of blood ran down her back, also sullying her silky lavender ponytail.
She was hurt because of him.
Because I wasn’t paying full attention to my surroundings. Because I’m still an inexperienced fighter… Because I’m a fool!
The world he once knew had long gone now.
A world that, in its indifference, continued without him—leaving him way behind compared to the others.
He had nothing.
No armor, no money, and a sword that barely cut.
Nothing he could do about it.
Nothing he would bitch about.
Because I found you, Anastasia.
A sudden memory flashed before his eyes: of him, wandering through a series of lonely, quiet tunnels until he found a cave—her cave.
A woman lay there, back against the rocky wall, head slumped. Lifelessly contemplating the motes of earth dancing around her face.
Abandoned. Forgotten by time itself.
Just like me. But it’s okay. I wanted this.
He did not curse his luck, for he now had a mission to fulfill, and he would make damn sure to accomplish it—even if my level is insufficient.
From the moment he stepped into this virtual land once again, he quickly realized the enormous gap that separated him from the rest of the world.
Even the creatures that were considered noob-friendly vastly surpassed him in power.
So I have to use this…
He planted his feet and fixed his gaze on the fight just ahead. His green eyes shone with a light of their own as he focused on the NPC, currently unable to land a clean hit.
Sorry, Anastasia, but until I reach my contemporaries’ level, I need you to keep lending me your strength!
Keep fighting for me so I can help the people that surround me—not all of them desire to become heroes and warriors. Like that Tobias guy! He only wants to open his restaurant and sell ramen in peace.
So please, Anastasia! Help me find peace for those that yearn for it!
"Active Skill, Ghost Link!"
A soothing, inner voice talked to Anastasia inside her head.
She opened her eyes wide for a fraction of a second before closing them and nodding.
The Werebunyard saw that lapse of time as an opening, and raised its paw, poised for an attack.
(Anastasia!) Alan talked to her through a private, telepathic Audio Chat—the communication faster than normal human speech. (You’re stronger than this! Block the incoming attack—!)
For Anastasia, Alan’s voice became louder than everything else surrounding her. And his words, more than suggestions, became commands.
She did as told.
The Werebunyard struck down like a guillotine.
The pole of the battle axe withstood the attack—the resulting clang reverberating down the street and to the main plaza—but more importantly, she barely received damage, only 10% due to the strain in her back, arms, and leg muscles.
Alan continued, (—and chop that freaking paw!)
With a battlecry, her blade severed its objective cleanly.
The spurting blood stained her apron.
(Let’s finish it! Special Move #1!)
Anastasia knew what to do.
From the moment they named it that, she had etched the movements into her muscle memory—if such a concept existed for a digital being like her.
She bent one knee forward and leaned down, wielding the battle axe firmly behind her in a horizontal angle.
A flicker of electricity manifested on the steel.
(I’m ready, Master.)
(NOW!)
Although he was not aware of it, that last push from Alan gave Anastasia an increased boost on her Valor stat—her boots even sinking into the ground.
"Ground-to-Cloud Rift!" she shouted.
She drew an ascending, silver arc, complemented by the crack of a lightning bolt when her steel met the Werebunyard’s neck.
When the head bounced near Alan, he feared the monster would spawn two duplicates. But after the silence settled, he sighed in relief and dashed toward his companion.
"Anastasia, are you okay?"
"Yes, Master. The battle is over."
"Good job. You were impressive! And also…" He knelt in front of her like a knight, lowering his head in repentance. "I want to apologize. Because of my stupidity, you got hurt. Forgive me."
She quickly crouched so they were at eye level. "I should be the one apologizing to you, Master. I was just following your orders. I didn’t know it’d cause you stress."
He met her violet gaze—free of judgment. It made him smile.
"We should come up with a new ‘Mode,’ don’t you think? For those occasions where you should stay put and still be on your guard."
"Absolutely. Please give it a name when you’re ready."
Alan then focused on the dark stains on her dress. That sight made his chest ache.
"You’re hurt. Let me see."
Anastasia stared at him for a second before nodding. She slid her puffed sleeves down her arms without hesitation, making the lacy bodice inch down, revealing more and more of her creamy skin and bountiful chest.
He stopped her gloved hand from continuing while stammering, "O-On second thought, we shouldn’t do this here in the open…"
— 3.1 —
They settled in one of the abandoned homes. The place was in complete silence—not even a clock ticking in the living room or the sound of a Streaming Screen hissing with static from one of the rooms.
Whoever had been the owner, they had not left in a hurry. And yet, the door had been burst open, and trails of destruction could be traced all the way to the back—caused by a group of Bunyards finding the exit, most likely.
The woman with fox ears sat in a kitchen chair as Alan bandaged her back behind her, her exposed chest out of his view.
Something tells me that regular NPCs would never expose themselves to Users so readily.
"I wish I had healing magic," he was saying, barely above a whisper.
She shook her head. "Don’t worry about me, Master. This already helps. The wound will heal by tomorrow morning."
"That’s great to hear. Is there somewhere else that needs treatment?"
"No, Master. But thanks for asking."
"By the way, could you please stop calling me that?"
"Call you what?"
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
"Master!" he snapped, raising his voice and flailing his arms above his head. "I’m Alan! Just Alan, okay?"
"Understood, Master Alan."
He sighed and muttered, "I won’t give up on this… Mark my words." He then clasped his hands. "And done! You can cover yourself again. Although it feels wrong to walk around in dirty clothes. Should I check if there’s something suitable for you upstairs?"
"We’re already invading someone else’s property. It would be highly unacceptable to also take their things."
Alan raised his eyebrows. "You’re right…" Then looked out through a breach in the wall. "The sunset is near. Could we at least borrow a torch?"
"Power outages are rare in The Novus, so I doubt the owner has ever bought one. But I bet I could find a lantern downtown."
"Perfect, let’s move. I want to check something there too. Just remember not to disturb the horde."
They separated.
The hundreds of white critters kept running in circles with indifference. The air around the plaza reeked of blood and animal stench.
Alan perched on the highest building he could find—the townhall, a white three-story structure he associated with a church. Maybe it’s because of the bell tower, or the stained glass windows.
He sat cross-legged and shut his eyes to cast something automatically—ignoring the fact he needed to channel mana first.
He did not know how.
"Active Skill, Echo Ping…"
He relaxed. He needed to for the skill to work.
His mind sent a signal in a 300-feet radius and returned with data about what it found.
Despite having his eyes closed, the System still showed him data--hundreds of tiny red dots below him.
Old news. I need to make the signal stronger.
The Active Skill collected more mana from him without his notice. His head felt light for a moment, which he thought was normal.
The search had been increased to a 500-feet radius.
That’s nothing. Make it double.
1000 feet.
The signal returned with dead silence.
He felt as if his life was being drained away from him.
Cold sweat ran down his forehead.
A piercing sensation crawled up through the tips of his fingers all the way to his forearms.
I think… I can… manage to increase it… a little more.
Search expanded to 1300 feet.
He fell on his back.
His sugar levels dropped significantly.
To compensate for the lack of magical energy, the system was drawing from his health and stamina directly.
He opened his mouth and no sound came out—did he want to shout, or just scream in agony?
As he clutched the cloth around his chest, a blinking dot appeared.
Alan opened his eyes wide. I found something… Wait, no. It’s not some… thing…
It felt familiar.
He had sensed something like it before.
Like the time I met Anastasia.
He redirected the scan in that direction, and his inner view expanded—dozens of tiny dots surrounded that solitary signal.
"I found someone," he said aloud, coming to his senses. Then, instead of feeling the hard surface of the rooftop against his nape, he felt something warm and soft.
"Master Alan, are you okay?"
He found himself resting on Anastasia’s lap.
When did this happen?!
He jolted, embarrassed. "S-Sorry!"
"Master, you look pale," Anastasia said as she pulled something out of her Inventory. "Please, drink this."
Alan accepted the bottle of water and gulped it down, then frowned. "Where did you get this? I thought we shouldn’t take people’s stuff."
"This is indispensable for survival," she retorted, leaving no opening for refutation.
He smiled before turning serious. "I know where to go."
— 3.2 —
The last trails of orange sunlight slipped through the rooftops.
The farther they got from the plaza, the more deserted their surroundings seemed.
It’s a different feeling than the rest of the town. It feels off.
Unable to explain why, he observed the buildings thoroughly. No more destroyed doors and windows—just an eerie sense of abandonment.
As if the Bunyards never bothered coming this way—and it may make sense. They’re sprouting from the ground as if there were tunnels connecting the source to the plaza.
Night descended upon them.
Anastasia lit a lantern and continued leading the way, but Alan could not shake the feeling that they were now surrounded.
It’s just my imagination, he thought, betting he would find dozens of Bunyard signals under their feet if he used Echo Ping. But I mustn’t. I have to reserve my energy for what may come next.
A stench gradually drifted their way—the distant smell of dry blood and filth. We’re getting close.
A howling pierced through the chill air, prompting them to turn back. They had heard the cry before.
"It sounds exactly like the Werebunyard," Alan said before hearing two more. "What the hell is going on? We let them be."
"Master, some creatures change their behavior at nightfall. Some become feral."
Alan’s stomach dropped. "What are you trying to say, Anastasia?"
"The Bunyards have been moving non-stop for hours," Anastasia began explaining, her beautifully rendered face partially lit by the lantern. At that moment it looked as if a statue were talking. "They may be hungry. There’s a high possibility they may—"
Alan felt a tremor beneath his boots. His instincts kicked in, telling him to grab Anastasia’s wrist and run. She let him drag her down back alleys without sharing a word.
Both knew what was coming.
Come on, come on! We’re almost there! We’re so close to discovering what’s causing this damn disaster. The last thing we need is another—!
A heavy mass crashed into the next street over. Alan shielded his face from the dust as his fears came to life.
"Another Werebunyard! How in hell did it find us!"
"Apex Predators usually have a tracking skill, and we’re the only ones in town," Anastasia replied.
"BULLSHIT!"
The monster drove its claws through the narrow passage, bringing down bricks and a cloud of dust.
Anastasia equipped her battle axe and retaliated immediately, cutting off half the paw, which became a dangling, bloody mess.
"I’ll try to get rid of it quickly, Master! Please take refuge!"
The other Werebunyards will come here any moment now, he thought, his heart hammering in his chest.
Then his focus shifted to his right—to a single building in the distance, one hundred feet away.
That was his destination.
I can make it. I can end this once and for all.
He licked his lower lip, which felt dry.
He had his sword if he had to fend off a threat.
But leaving Anastasia was…
"Go!" she yelled from her position as the enraged Werebunyard howled in pain. "I won’t let them get you!"
That was all the motivation he needed.
"I’ll come back for you!"
He ran at full speed—a short sprint before pulling up short at the locked front door.
He looked up. Although barely holding together, and the moonlight barely making out details, he knew what it was.
A restaurant.
The sign was incomplete, reading only ‘Heart—’.
Breaking in felt like a waste of time so he headed around back instead.
And stopped short.
What had once been a modest livestock pen stretched behind the building, its wooden fencing smashed, leaving a gap big enough for any animal to break free. But more importantly, it still circled a hole in the ground, roughly three feet wide.
That must connect directly to the plaza.
He shook his head, ignored the Staff Only signs and got in through the back door.
A heavy, stagnant atmosphere hit his lungs and eyes like a sucker punch—enough to make him press an arm against the wall for balance.
He even had to cover his nose to prevent himself from—no. Too late.
He threw up, with no time to decide where—and the filth already coating the floor matched the mess anyway.
There goes my yummy ramen…
He cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand and pressed forward.
His only sources of light were the intermittent blinking of dying fluorescent tubes overhead.
The place had power, all right, but no one had performed maintenance in a long time.
He finally found the service area. Red faux leather armchairs framed the space, and he would not place a hand on those once-white tables if he had to.
Chunks of decomposed meat. Small rib bones and skulls. Fur sticking to the walls.
Why hasn’t the System gotten rid of all this? Monster corpses disappear after a while. There’s no decomposition cycle in this world. Unless…
A realization made him forget all about his nausea.
This whole place is glitched.
A faint voice reached his ears, making him gulp.
He equipped his sword without thinking and passed through the cash registers—a mere formality, since there were no physical gold coins in The Novus and all transactions traveled through popup windows.
A logo embedded in the menus finally revealed the name of the establishment—Hearty Stews.
A sign promoted their latest dish: ‘Try our new Bunyard Stew—Farm Fresh, Fall-off-the-Bone Tender! Hearty enough to last the whole adventure!’
The hell?
Then the sound.
A thud. Pause. Humming. Thud. Pause.
He caught the exact moment two Bunyards skittered out of the kitchen and disappeared through the back.
Almost all of the mysteries have been resolved, except for the ‘why?’ and ‘by whom?’
He slowly pushed the kitchen door open, finding a lone silhouette in front of a counter. Then a descending trail of silver resulting in another sharp thud.
Seconds later, two Bunyards jumped down and escaped between Alan’s legs.
A female voice muttered, "Customers… will arrive any moment now… I need to… get the stew going… Yes… the stew… Bunyard stew… I need meat for the stew… Plenty of meat."
That person had animal ears.
An NPC… You have to be kidding me.
Something burning built up from the bottom of Alan’s stomach as he yelled, "Hey, stop that!"
The cook twisted her head toward him, as if yanked by a rope. Two aquamarine eyes met Alan’s gaze.
"A customer!" she squealed, showing a permanently red-stained face. Chunks of guts stuck to her cheeks and short hair. "Please, come in! I mean—sorry, but we’re currently closed! We’re open from nine a.m. to… huh. I can’t recall our working hours." She turned and walked toward a cage. "Anyway! Please, take a seat. Your stew will be ready in a minute!"
From his spot, Alan caught a glimpse of something white moving in that corner. When the woman returned to the counter holding a Bunyard by the ears, Alan rushed toward her, grabbing her arm.
"I told you to stop! What do you think you’re doing?!"
She met his eyes with a neutral expression. "I think that’s obvious, sir. I’m preparing the meat for the stew… Aren’t you hungry? Is that not why you’re here?"
Alan glanced at the stoves. There were no pots there, with the exception of the ones abandoned in the sinks a long time ago.
He closed his eyes for a second, swallowing a bitter taste in his mouth before softening his tone. "I’m… I’m not hungry, but thanks. The store is closed, you know? I saw the sign outside. So, why don’t we go for now and clean this place tomorrow morning, yes?"
The cook stared at Alan with empty eyes before letting the Bunyard go and swinging a kitchen knife at him.
He jumped back. A diagonal cut was now ruining his jacket.
That prompted him to glance at the ominous number above her head.
Level 25… Ah, shit…
She went for another slash, this time aiming for his neck.
Alan burst out of the kitchen, stumbling over the free Bunyard that wanted out just as much as him.
He tripped, his left forearm bracing the fall. The cook loomed over him, her eyes glowing electric blue.
"I must get the stew going… I need meat for the stew… Don’t you get it? Customers will arrive any moment now… If you’re not hungry—are you meat then?"
That definitely didn’t send shivers down my spine!
He heard crumbling and tremors in the distance. Anastasia was busy handling the Werebunyards.
He was alone.
Alan raised his sword—which he had forgotten he was still wielding—blocking the kitchen steel.
The cook quickly straddled him.
She was strong.
Of course she is!
Alan’s right arm strained as visible veins surfaced.
The struggle would end soon, and not in his favor.
"M-Miss! I just want to help you!" he said through clenched teeth.
The woman with cat ears shook her head—not a single strand of hair moved, it was too sticky for that.
"You’re the one that doesn’t understand. I need this place to be open—I need the stew to be ready! Every day. Every night. Every week. Every month. Every. Every-very-ry."
"F-Forgive me for this, then…"
He punched her in the throat with his left fist.
She tried to gasp—could not. She dropped the butcher knife, which he picked up immediately.
Alan reversed the situation, jumping over her and slicing the tendons in her wrists so she would no longer be a threat.
He contemplated his opponent as she fought for air.
Would a miracle like Anastasia be possible again?
He gulped as he grabbed the sides of her head with shaky hands. Then, with a firm voice, he cast, "Host Sync…"
A skill he did not need mana to perform.
*
The Hearty Stew used to open from nine a.m. to five p.m., all week.
During the first days of The Novus, NPCs became infamous for their insipid food—nothing Users could do about it, since they were the owners of every restaurant.
Pragmatic Users experimented with the new ingredients The Novus provided, like monster meat and everything that grew from the ground.
The lazy ones kept frequenting the NPC-run establishments.
"If you think about it, this tastes comparable to what we used to find in any convenience store. Just corporate, manufactured junk food…"
And with time, people discovered that every town held different dishes.
If you craved fish and chips, you visited Southamon. If you wanted ramen and stew, you traveled to Windexeter. It was that simple.
Then the Administrators dropped a massive content patch during The Novus’s first anniversary, letting people start their own businesses.
Restaurants bloomed during this period.
The mechanics were simple: if anyone was interested, they would ask for the job at any place holding a ‘Help Wanted’ sign. Then they would receive a chain quest.
The tasks were straightforward:
- Get 50 Gloomshrooms.
- Go to the neighboring town and buy 20 pounds of pasta.
The second phase was learning the recipes to a T, with no room for improvising.
The last phase, after weeks of working, was to create a new dish to be featured in the restaurant.
If the User managed to hit a certain sales goal, congratulations, they had the option of becoming The Manager—no one ever turned that down.
‘Chr_W1_92’—its original, user-friendly name long forgotten by time—was the owner of a modest stew restaurant, famous for three different specialties.
Sheepbeet, Boovine, and Swinehog stew.
Every NPC had a schedule. For restaurant owners like Chr_W1_92, that meant sourcing ingredients.
Every night, she would tend to the small herd of animals she kept in the pen out back--feeding them, making sure none had wandered, checking the fencing. Two of each species was sufficient for the job.
But The Novus, striving for a semi-realistic world, also accounted for ‘excess.’
If the restaurant did not sell all its food, the NPCs would save it for just another day before it spoiled.
Due to its location—far from the main plaza—Chr_W1_92’s restaurant always had excess food.
Throwing away food was also part of her programming. Something she did with the same smile she wore when cooking.
She would hold that smile behind the cash register too.
Waiting.
Ready to sell stew.
Until the day Edmund Grimsby appeared at the entrance, asking about the ‘Help Wanted’ sign.
During those days, something in Chr_W1_92 changed. Something even the most dedicated programmer could not make sense of: Chr_W1_92 hummed a simple song more frequently.
While cooking, chopping meat, while scrubbing the pots.
The day when good old Edmund had to come up with a new flagship dish, Chr_W1_92 delivered the news with that bright smile that had always characterized her—even among her peers.
Edmund grinned even brighter. "Oh, I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, you know? I know exactly what to do!"
The next day, as Chr_W1_92 flipped the sign to ‘Open,’ Edmund arrived holding a little white monster inside a wooden cage.
"This is a Bunyard! Forget raising stock--too slow, too much upkeep. This thing is self-sufficient!"
Chr_W1_92 smiled warmly at Edmund and told him to start cooking.
But despite the new signs promising a mouth-watering flavor, the customers did not arrive in droves.
The few that tried the new stew said it was fine, but that they preferred the hearty, slow-cooked richness of the Swinehog, or the melt-in-your-mouth texture of the Boovine.
Edmund’s enthusiasm dropped from that day on.
His million-gold idea had been a flop.
"Send me a message when we hit the sales goal, will ya?"
Those were his last words. He never came back to work—off to find his luck at another restaurant, perhaps.
But for Chr_W1_92, she was obligated—by the System—to keep offering the Bunyard stew until Edmund quit the quest or the sales goal was met.
Neither ever happened.
Chop. Boil. Serve. Repeat.
Kill. Store. Close the store. Repeat.
Smile. Wait. Be still and friendly. Repeat.
Months passed, and the Hearty Stew was even forgotten by the people of Windexeter, especially after the ramen shop on the main plaza had become a waypoint for visitors.
Occasionally, neighbors would catch a glimpse of Chr_W1_92 through the restaurant windows.
Standing there. Staring at the empty space in front of her. Smiling.
It was unsettling.
Watching her go through the same motions—getting ingredients by night, taking out the trash at sunset, cooking for no one in the morning.
As time passed, people moved on from Level 2 towns like Windexeter. For some, the cities were just too appealing to pass up.
For those still drawn to a quieter life, they stayed, but bought houses around the plaza and formed a closed community within the town.
That side of town, where the Hearty Stew still stood, was avoided.
And the living doll with a blue bob, aquamarine eyes, and a wide smile remained there. Alone.
Until it broke.
Any machine, any system, eventually breaks if not maintained.
Even those with simple mechanics.
It just needs an external push to override—like catching a bug from monsters whose code had been rewritten by some rogue program that had been plaguing the System for the last two weeks.
And sometimes, a machine will simply flip a 1 to a 0 inside its own programming… just because.
(Please, stop this! I need to boil the meat—I need to prepare stew!)
(It’s no use! No one will come to buy. Just forget about it!)
(But if I do this, who will cook—?)
(Have a hard look at your surroundings. This place is over! Your link with Edmund is over too! Please, start anew!)
(What are you talking about? If I’m not a cook, what else could I be? Are you asking me to become obsolete?)
(Anything! You can be anything else! You cannot continue down this path! Haven’t you suffered enough?!)
(Suffered…?)
(And if it’s an objective you need… I’LL GIVE YOU ONE! AND A GODDAMN GOOD ONE!)
She opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was the sun entering through the windows, framing the face of a young man with reddish hair.
“Bella," Alan said aloud as he helped her to her feet.
"Pardon me?"
"That’s your new name. Bella. For your new identity. Or would you rather pick one yourself?"
The female NPC tilted her head—an involuntary gesture she had never been programmed with—as she stared at the young man’s gleaming green eyes.
They looked like emeralds.
She nodded and smiled. "Hi. Nice to meet you, sir. My name is Bella…"
He chuckled. “Hey. I’m Alan Warden, and I’m on a mission to save the world. Are you in?”
She giggled back. “Oh, my. That sounds overwhelming… but yes. I will follow you.”