Rimelion: The Exploiter

1. The world is not real?

As I sliced through the throat of the final boss, a loud squishing sound resounded over the hall. With a mechanic pull of my sword, its yellow blood gushed out, and a metallic fragrance lingered in the air. Thanks to my finishing move, I defeated the Boss; thus I had completed the quest of the World's End, my last assignment.

[QA #954137 has been completed, ending session]

The system severed my connection to the test environment the moment I closed the notice. With a grunt, I crawled out of the VR capsule, my mind still foggy from the immersion. A voice, calm yet calculated, cut through my haze from behind me. "John, thank you for all your hard work. It saddens me that even your turn came up."

Sure, boss, like you really care. I smirked to myself. To show him how little his words mattered, I stayed silent, letting my gaze drift over the huge, echoing hall filled with old capsules. Only a few dim lights remained, tracing a path to the exit. This place once buzzed with people, but now it was just me, Lucy, and our annoyingly insincere boss.

The department's golden days felt like a distant memory, almost a lie. I gave a silent nod towards the last lit capsule across the hall. Good luck, Lucy, I thought, feeling a pang of loss for the one friend I had here.

"Don't worry," he continued, with a thin, practiced smile. "I'm sure you'll find another job."

"Save the fake sympathy," I muttered, my voice rough, refusing to even glance his way. At least one good thing came with being let go—never having to deal with him again. "Tell Lucy I'll miss her," I added, my tone flat. She deserves better, too.

Without looking back, I left the building at a steady pace, my hands curled into balls. I became a lone wolf. As I walked on the streets, I met crowds of robots going their ways, but only a few actual people. If you didn't play the game, or you were going outside, players called you "a wolf", as in a lone wolf. Normal people were communicating only in the game. The robots that humankind created were doing their jobs instead.

Like any other day, I made my way to the small bar wedged between two towering luxury apartment complexes. They loomed above, crowding the building in shadow, as if mocking the place's lack of sunlight. The developer even claimed it was an advantage—no blazing sun hitting the windows.

I smirked at the memory of me and the guys moving his German car to a river bank before stepping inside. Entering felt like stepping back into simpler times. I gave a nod to the old man behind the bar and slid onto my favorite stool. Hello, sadness. Patrick had already started pouring a whiskey, our usual ritual. A whiskey to fill the void.

Though he was well past 80, his hands remained steady—a small blessing from medical advances. When he caught sight of my expression, he raised an eyebrow. "Is it over? Did they let you go?"

With a pained smile, I lifted my head just enough to watch his hands pour. Even me. He cleared his throat to remind me of his question, and I finally responded, "Yeah. Guess I'm a wolf now."

"Even the last tester of the game?" he muttered, setting another glass in front of me. I didn't respond, just downed half of it and turned to stare out the small, blocked-in window. Darkness greeted me, with the neighboring building just inches away.

My gaze drifted to an old, faded photo hanging proudly on the wall. I polished off the whiskey. "Your bar hasn't changed a bit in a hundred years." The photo showed his Irish grandfather, beaming, standing beside some old celebrity who'd signed it. The signature was nearly gone now, lost to time.

Patrick sighed and shook his head. "Machines took over everything! End of the world, if you ask me. Never thought I'd say it." He polished a glass, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not getting any younger. My sons and grandsons, they're all playing that game, and most of my regulars... well, they're in the graveyard now. You and a few others are the only thing keeping me here. If you go, I may just cave and sell this place to that snot-nosed brat."