Game is life-but what if your life turns into a game?
Raiden believes he's a real person, but everyone sees him as an NPC. As such, he finds himself trapped in the popular Hyper-Virtual Reality game named "Defiant Sins Online," an expansive, artific...
His memory was still foggy, but the last he could remember was stabbing the rascal leader. He tried to move his body, and realizing that he had returned to his normal, unshadow form, the paralysis status appeared to be still in effect.
Great, he was jailed, and paralyzed.
As he thought on the spot, he was reminded of the shadow form. It happened when he pushed past the painful glitching. His old self temporarily disappeared—status effects, stats, and everything—and was replaced by another. Something else. Some nebulous power that almost overwhelmed him.
And on that moment, he was able to turn into a player.
So was he not an NPC, after all? How else could he have damaged the rascal leader?
But then, why was he categorized as an AI? What was he doing here, in a game he never knew, that he couldn't log out off? And why couldn't he remember his real life?
Raiden sighed. There were too much questions, and too little answers. He preferred to rest and empty his mind for now.
The tingling jolt ran across his body. He hated how this paralysis effect felt—it was like full body cramps.
Piercing the silence of his cell was a brief tinkling sound, followed by a healing light. Raiden opened his eyes, and realized the paralysis had been completely lifted.
He turned to see the caster, and then saw the healer, just right outside the jail bars. She gave him a weak smile.
"Molsie?" he said. "What are you doing here?"
She didn't speak a word, but remained to watch next to his cell. Footsteps rang out in the distance.
Molsie twisted, stepping aside for someone. An armored haman came up. The warden?
The soldier clanged his cell. "Wake up, bot. It's time for your punishment."
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Raiden exhaled. He was splayed, chained to two metal poles. He had been completely stripped, all except the barest minimum of garment.
Around him, was a small tribunal, some virtual and artificial court, filled with authority figures. On the middle, was an armored centaur—the royal arbiter that had caught him. To the side, Molsie watched in deep concern.
The authority figures related to him the specifics of his supposed crime, but Raiden didn't pay much attention to it. It was all hogwash.
"What do you have to say for yourself?" an authority spoke to him.
Raiden looked up. "Cut the crap and be done with it."
The tribunal shifted at his reply. "You are speaking before the respected committee, sanctioned by the Silver Citadel and the great Five Kings. It is advised that you reply with discretion."
