Broken Haven

Chapter 1

Rain drops tapped away at the windows of a two hundred year old structure with a less than Victorian interior. Decorated vibrantly with video games from all genres, it served as a 'shop' for humans to buy things from. I'm sure you've all heard of them. Looking outside from the warm comfort of a roof over one's head, one might begin to believe that it was nearing eight 'o'clock with the total lack of daylight available for eye consumption; however you would find yourself to be very much mistaken in thinking such a thing for it was midday in the middle of June; however you'd experience no surprise when finding out that this was Britain.

"Who's next?" Shouted a slender adolescent with ruffled blonde hair and glasses. Up looked a slightly shorter and younger boy. He wore a black t-shirt, baggy blue jeans, and an oversized zip-up hoodie of which he kept his hands sealed tightly inside the pockets. From his head drooped a long mop of wavy hazel-brown hair that fell down his back and over his face, just enough to cover half of his profile.

The boy produced a large box and planted it on the desk, creating a thud. In large symbols, it read 'Optic 5', and in smaller print underneath 'The Newest Generation of VR.' He proceeded with stacking a significantly smaller plastic box on top of it, the label reading; 'Haven'. The boy pushed the boxes across the desk towards the shop assistant.

"Haven, eh? I can't wait for this game to launch tonight; I'm guessing you'll be on it then?" Asked the shop assistant.

The boy nodded.

"I have a small inclination that I won't be getting too much sleep, it looks dynamite. What's your name?"

"Hans." The boy replied.

Hans was of German origin, moving to England when he was only two years old because his father had found a job opportunity that he just couldn't pass up. Due to Hans being so young at the time, he'd never had the chance to pick up an accent from his birth town of Freiburg. Instead, he'd been given a fairly middle class English accent which was surprising given the circumstances of where he'd grown up; in the uppermost north of England. A small town called Penrith. There wasn't much to do in Penrith, so Hans chose to stay inside playing games like a nerd. You could say that sometimes he was embarrassed by his name with it being so uncommon and particularly odd.

"I'll look out for you." Replied the shop assistant. "There can't be too many people on an English server with that name." The shop assistant chuckled to himself.

Servers were planned to be set up so that people could only play with other people from their country; enabling everyone to be paired up with people that spoke the same language. Makes sense, right? Coming across an angry Russian man who knew no English would certainly be quite the experience that one would want to be forgetting.

"What about you?" Hans asked apprehensively.

"Sorry?" The shop assistant asked in reply.

"Er, your... name."

"Ah how rude of me, it's Alex." The shop assistant responded.

"I'll look out for you too then I guess."

"OK Hans that's... Three hundred and thirty-nine pounds and ninety eight pence!"

Hans rummaged through his pocket, fighting with his wallet to drag it out. With one final tug, it popped out; however the battle scars showed. He gently rubbed his friction-burnt hand. He proceeded to open it and pull out twenty pound notes one by one, counting each. He handed over the stack of twenty pound notes. As Alex counted up the money for himself, Hans turned around and looked about. A small queue had formed behind him, however his interest lied up in the corners of the ceiling where little orange cameras all seemed to be focused on him. He stared hypnotically back as if he were lost in thought.