Pedestrians put away their wet umbrellas as the last drop of rain hits the pavement. The waft of street-food, now unrestricted by the weather, reaches Rando’s nostrils. Yet, he hungers not for local delicacies, but for the digital magic contained in a flash drive firmly held in his right hand. His left hand, meanwhile, brings pages worth of Nora’s notes before him, and his eyes casually skim across the words dimly lit by street-lamps as he walks. He is unable to comprehend any of it because of a voice that follows him persistently.

“Yeah, I’ll be staying over at a friend’s place,” Nora informs her mother on the phone while cradling a large box. “Please take care of George for me. Love you. Bye.”

“I can carry the Dream Vision,” Rando tries to shoo her away. “You can go. George needs you more than I do.”

“Aw, I can’t play favorites here. You two are equally important to me.”

“Don’t compare me to a dog. Also, what’s with the black marker?”

“To make a doctor’s day if it comes to that,” she smiles innocently.

He glares at her. “You don’t have to worry about me, Nora.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m worried about those poor NPCs I may have unleashed a tea-bagging monster on. I want to make sure your journey is family-friendly for all our sakes.”

“Nora, they’re not people. They’re data. Ones and Zeroes.”

Nora sighs. “Yeah, I wonder about that.”

“Yeah?”

Nora stays silent. Rando notices this and repeats his last question with a more exaggerated gesture.

Then, Nora hesitates, as if trying to steer clear of her own thoughts. “This game blurs the line between NPCs and players somewhat, if not completely. If some unfortunate and, frankly, insane fellow like yourself is also playing this game, I would prefer you… behave yourself.”

Rando recalls the lecture Nora gave him earlier while making notes. One thing she uncovered in her research on gamers falling unconscious was that, though the incident occurred roughly the same time as when the game disappeared all platforms, the direct cause was something else entirely.

“So we don’t end up killing each other in an accidental Player-vs-Player scenario, because the trigger is in-game death?”

“Yeah.”

“Even though there might be nobody else playing this game? Assuming the server is even running?”

“Let’s hope it isn’t running,” she mumbles to herself.

“So what did you actually want to say, instead of repeating what you’ve said before?”

Nora bites her lip and stays silent. Rando notices the awkwardness in the air and forces a laugh.

“If you die in-game, you die in real life? That’s a cookie-cutter plot I’ve seen a thousand times in anime. Besides, why on earth would the authorities allow the sale of Dream Vision if it can microwave my brain?”

“Yes,” she echoes his sentiments. “The device itself is perfectly safe.”

Rando plays the Devil’s Advocate. “That ain’t no mere VR device, my lady. It scans my brainwaves and everything.”

“Yes, but it has been through several audits, and the safety commission itself has given its stamp of approval. It hasn’t broken any compliance as far as I recall. Yet players fall unconscious anyway, and only while playing this one game too. Why else do people think it’s cursed?”

“Yeah, yeah…” Rando groans.

“Don’t yeah-yeah me. You promised. The only reason I’m letting you do this is if you can take care not to die, not even once, not even for a joke.”

Rando smiles and gives her a one-handed hug to reassure her.

Moments later, they arrive at their destination.

“Welcome to my abode,” he tells Nora before he opens the door for her.

Rando turns on the lights, revealing a cozy, single-bedroom apartment. They take off their shoes before stepping inside. The living room, although clean in general, is still littered with all manner of CD cases and video-game peripherals next to a computer and television at one corner.