The VR mask removed itself automatically at precisely 18:00:00. End of shift. But instead of the usual silence, a notification flashed on my screen:
[IMMEDIATE SUMMONS - OFFICE 47-B - MID-TERM EVALUATION]
Shit.
I stood up, my legs numb after eight hours of immobility. Around me, the other narrators from Shift B were leaving normally, unaware of my summons. Office 47-B. Fifth floor. Management Sector. I took the elevator, my stomach in knots.
The fifth-floor corridor was different. Thick carpet instead of linoleum. Indirect lighting instead of neons. Air-conditioned silence instead of electrical humming. Office 47-B. Dark wood door. Golden plaque: EVALUATION & COMPLIANCE. I knocked.
— Enter.
I entered. A square room. Cold despite the carpet. Two people sitting behind a glass desk. A man, forties, impeccable grey suit. A woman, fifties, strict black suit. Between them, three screens displaying graphs I didn't understand.
— Narrator 104, sit down, the man said without looking up.
I sat on the uncomfortable chair facing them. The woman tapped on a tablet.
— Narrator 104. Intern. Day 3 of 7 on subject KAEL-7743. Mid-point. Let’s analyze your metrics.
She pivoted a screen toward me. Curves. Numbers. Red and green zones.
— Subject progression: satisfactory. Level 5 reached in three days. 15% above the standard curve. Good.
She tapped again.
— Narrative compliance: -11 points. Problematic. You deviated from protocol on... let's see... seven distinct occasions. Unauthorized use of Narrator Luck. Acquisition of out-of-level items. Manipulation of dice rolls. Excessive directive intervention.
— I followed Article 7 protocol, I defended myself. All my rolls were legitimate.
— Legitimate but... creative, the man said, finally looking at me. Too creative. We appreciate initiative, Narrator 104, but we value compliance more. Rules exist for a reason.
— The subject survived. He is progressing.
— For now, the woman corrected. But your emotional investment is concerning.
She tapped. A new graph appeared.
— Average narration time per segment: 47% above the norm. Descriptive details: 63% above. Direct interventions: 89% above. You are getting... attached, Narrator 104. It’s a classic intern mistake.
— I’m just doing my job.
— No, the man said coldly. You are doing MORE than your job. And in our system, "more" is not always "better." You create expectations. Bonds. Complications.
A heavy silence settled in.
— Let’s talk about your points, the woman resumed. Currently: 197 out of 500 required. At the mid-point, you should be at 250 minimum. You are 53 points behind.
— The compliance penalties...
— Are your responsibility. However...
She exchanged a look with the man.
— Your subject is performing well. Very well, even. His survival statistics went from 12% to 31%. It’s remarkable. If this trend continues, and if you reach 600 points...
— 600? I repeated. You said 500.
— 500 for your internship validation, the man specified. 600 for subject conservation in the active database.
My heart stopped.
— Wait... Kael can be kept?
— If you reach 600 points, yes. Subject KAEL-7743 will be transferred to the permanent pool. He will continue to exist. Not erased. Not recycled. Conserved.
— And... and I can continue to narrate him?
The woman smiled. A cold, corporate smile.
— No. You are an intern. Conserved subjects are assigned to narrators of at least Bronze rank. If you pass your internship and are hired — which is not guaranteed — you could theoretically get him back in... six months. After your probationary period.
Six months. In six months, Kael would have lived dozens of adventures. With another narrator. Someone else telling his story. Someone else deciding his choices. Or maybe he would have been dead for a long time.
— 600 points, I said slowly. How do I get there?
— Maximum compliance, the man said. Zero deviation. Fluid narrative progression. Crossing milestones: level 7 minimum, major quest completed, companion stabilized. And above all: narrative quality rated A or B during the final review.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
— That’s... a lot.
— That’s your job, the woman corrected. Now, listen carefully. We congratulate you on your current results. But we also warn you: your emotional investment is a risk. Subjects are simulations. Tools. Not people. If you forget that, you will suffer needlessly.
— I understand.
— Do you really? the man asked, leaning forward. Because your logs show that you talk to your subject outside of normal narrative interventions. You encourage him. You care about him. It’s... touching. But counterproductive.
— He listens to me. He reacts.
— He SIMULATES listening and reacting, the woman rectified. The difference is crucial. Never forget it.
She closed her tablet.
— Four days remaining. 403 points to obtain to reach 600. It’s possible but difficult. We recommend: increase narrative intensity, multiply quests, push the subject toward high risk/high reward situations. And above all: stay compliant.
— Understood.
— You may leave. Have a good weekend, Narrator 104.
I walked out, my legs trembling. 600 points to save Kael. 403 points in four days. It was almost impossible. But it was a chance.
XXIII. FRIDAY NIGHT - THE IMMERSER
I went home on autopilot. Subway. Wind. Corridors. 3m×4m apartment. Friday night. 20:17. Normally, I ate quickly and left for the Immerser by 21:00. My only real social interactions of the week. But now, I sat in my armchair, staring at the ceiling.
600 points. How?
I took out my corporate notebook, made quick calculations. Current points: 197. Remaining days: 4. Necessary points: 403. Required average: 100 points/day. It was huge. Normal days brought in 40-60 points maximum. I needed something spectacular. Dramatic. Narratively excellent. And zero compliance errors.
My phone vibrated. Message from the Immerser group:
[GWEN]: Are you coming tonight? We’re doing the Karak dungeon. Need a tank!
Gwendoline. I sighed, stood up, changed clothes. Clean pants. Less wrinkled shirt. A minimal effort. The Immerser was a fifteen-minute walk. A cylindrical building, five floors, blue neon sign: IMMERSER SECTOR 7 - GAMMA. I entered.
Heat. Music. Voices. Dozens of people in the hall, talking, laughing, waiting for their session. I paid my 20 credits at the counter and went up to level 3, booth 47. A 2m×2m room. An immersion tank chair. The latest Neuro-Link interface—much more powerful than the basic VR gear at work. Full haptic suit. Force feedback. I settled in, initiated the neural sync.
[WELCOME TO THE IMMERSER]
[LOADING PROFILE: AERON]
The world changed. It wasn't just a screen anymore; it was reality. I was no longer in a tiny booth. I was Aeron. Human warrior. Level 18. Strength 18. Charisma 16. Luck 5. Tall. Muscular. Handsome. Black hair. Green eyes. Golden plate armor. Flaming sword on my back. Everything I wasn't in reality. I appeared in the Golden Tavern, our group's social hub.
— AERON! a voice cried out.
I turned around. Gwendoline. Or rather, her avatar: Gwenara. Elf hunter. Level 17. Silver hair cascading to her hips. Violet eyes. Perfect body molded in green leather. Magic arc on her back. She approached, smiling.
— You're late! We were waiting for you!
— Sorry. Long day.
— Shitty corporate day? asked Thron, a bearded dwarf warrior, the avatar of my friend Marcus.
— Yeah. Mid-term evaluation.
— Ouch. How did it go?
— Threats and congratulations. The classic combo.
Gwenara laughed, placed a hand on my shoulder. My haptic suit simulated the contact. Warmth. Softness.
— Come on, forget work. We’re going to smash some goblins and get some loot!
There were six of us tonight. Me (tank), Gwenara (ranged DPS), Thron (melee DPS), Lyria (mage), Koros (cleric), Zephyr (rogue). We left for the Karak dungeon. Three hours of gameplay. Combat. Loot. Laughter. Jokes. Strategy. It was... pleasant.
But I couldn't help comparing. Gwenara was magnificent. Funny. Intelligent. We got along well. But she talked to me like a friend. Just a friend. A good gaming buddy. Never any flirting. Never any ambiguity. In the real world, we had met once. Quick coffee. She was pretty — less spectacular than her avatar, but pretty. I was... me. Small. Thin. Banal. She had been kind. But I had seen her look. The absence of a spark. Friendship, nothing more.
After the dungeon, we hung out in the tavern. Casual conversation.
— Aeron, you're weird tonight, Gwenara noticed. You okay?
— Yeah. Just tired.
— You sure? You're less talkative than usual.
— I'm thinking about things.
— What things?
I looked at her. Her perfect avatar. Her violet eyes that didn't really exist.
— What are we playing at here? I said suddenly.
— What do you mean?
— Here. The Immerser. Who are we? Our avatars or ourselves?
— That’s... a philosophical question, Thron laughed.
— No, I insist. When Gwenara talks to me, is it Gwenara the elf or Gwendoline the real person?
Gwenara — Gwendoline — frowned.
— It's me. My avatar is just... a representation.
— But it’s an idealized representation. Not really you.
— So what? That’s the point. It’s for fun. To relax. To be someone else for a few hours.
— Exactly, said Koros. To be someone else. To escape shitty reality.
I stood up from my virtual chair.
— I think I'm going to head home early tonight.
— What? But we just finished the dungeon!
— Sorry. I'm wiped. Good night, guys.
— Aeron, wait...
I disconnected.
XXIV. RETURN TO
I terminated the sync. 23:34. Three hours already. I left the booth, crossed the hall, went home. Wind. Cold. Solitude. 3m×4m apartment. Silence. I sat in my real armchair, stared at the real ceiling.
What was I playing at? In the Immerser, I was Aeron. Strong. Handsome. Charismatic. But it wasn't me. It was a simulation. An illusion. At work, I created Kael. I guided him. I grew attached to him. But he wasn't a person. It was a simulation. An illusion. My entire life was layers of stacked illusions. And Gwendoline... she saw me. The real me. And she only wanted friendship. Because the real me had nothing interesting to offer.
I took out my notebook. Went back to the calculations. 600 points. 403 points in four days. To save Kael. So he could continue to exist. Even without me. Even with another narrator. Because at least he was progressing. He was improving. He had a goal. Me? I was just an intern narrating stories for others.
I spent two hours planning. Intensive quests. Dramatic combats. Rapid progression. Narrative revelations. Everything that would earn points. And zero errors. Zero deviation. Zero visible emotional attachment. At 02:17, I fell asleep in my armchair, the notebook on my knees. Tomorrow, Day 4. The wolves of the West Forest. That’s where it all had to begin.