Joel woke up, groggy and with a piercing headache. The dense, wooden table pressed against his cheek. The smell of stale ale, the warmth of the nearby fireplace, and a faint haze of smoke. Even with the ring in his ears, he instantly recognized the place. 

The Berrygood Lodge.

One of the starting locations for First Fantasy VRMMO, the first game of its kind. 

A wave of nostalgia hit Joel as he lifted his head. He remembered the excitement upon being approved for early access, the thousands of afterschool hours that followed with his friends. He swore he could still feel the heartbreak from when they reset player accounts for the full release. 

And then life just got in the way. It had been years since he last played. 

But how did he end up here? He remembered having a passing interest in revisiting the game, but he didn't recall logging in. Mom wasn’t going to be happy about missing the family dinner. He’d been drinking with a couple of friends and had been planning on taking the overnight train back home for the holidays. How much had he drunk that he logged onto this old game?

“I need a Tylenol or something,” he said, massaging his temples. The ringing in his head was softening but not nearly fast enough.

“[Log Out].”
…

“What the hell…”

“[Log Out].”

…

That wasn’t good.

“[Log Out].”

“[Log Out].”

“[Log Out]!”

…

Nothing. That really wasn’t good. The [Log Out] button was nearly sacred. It always logged you off; pulled you back to reality.

He sucked air through his teeth.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” he muttered to himself. “You aren’t twelve anymore, don’t panic.”

“[System Settings], [Account Settings], [Contact Support].”

…

Each command failed to make anything happen. In fact, they couldn’t even be selected.

Shit.

It was enough to make him sit up straight at his table. Scratching his head, he took another deep breath. He tried every command three more times. 

No good.

Maybe there was a server issue or maintenance. So, for the next while, he kept trying to exit out of the game. Each minute and every attempt felt like an eternity.

Still nothing. The scream caught in his throat, and he slammed his fist into the table. What was going on? What the hell were the game devs thinking? There was still a player stuck here!

He took a proper look around the tavern. Rotten floorboards, chipped cutlery, an uneven bench. Honestly, the place was more drab than he remembered. Hell, the greatsword that usually hung above the fireplace was missing. The dusty, empty display case made the lodge feel even more dingy.

What was more strange was how empty the common room was. There was only one other person — a cloaked individual — sitting in the far, ill-lit corner. Their muddy green hood was pulled low, hiding the top half of their face. The bottom was covered by the smoke of their pipe. A curved dagger stood upright in front of them, its silver blade embedded into the table.

“Okay, creepy…” he whispered to himself, turning away. The weapon made him feel uneasy.

“[Status].”

—

Name: Joel Early

Class: Commoner

Level: 0

 

HP: 100%

MIGHT: 45

DEFTNESS: 50

VITALITY: 40

FOCUS: 45

SPIRIT: 40

RESOLVE: 45

—

He blinked. Level 0? Since when did they start at level 0 in First Fantasy? He was certain that the game started at level 1 with your class selected.

And why the hell was his last name Early? Some sort of dev inside joke?

They had changed the names of the ability scores. However, the numbers were abysmal from what he remembered. Maybe it was understandable if he really was a commoner but they were still low enough to almost make him wince. 

Usually, stats like that would result in re-rolling, but that option was only available at character creation. He’d have to up those numbers swiftly. 

At least his headache was starting to fade. 

Joel skipped over the [Skills], [Spells], and the other menu options. There wasn’t going to be anything in there for a level 0 commoner. But he paused over [Inventory]. Maybe he had something worthwhile. The game usually began with some starting cash.

“[Inventory].”

Empty. Figures.

His eyes peered down to see how many coins he had on him.

0 copper, 0 silver, 0 gold, 0 platinum.

Joel wanted to slam his head through the table. He had nothing. He had less than nothing! 

Stuck. Weak. Broke.

The clattering of pans interrupted him before he could wallow longer. Across the room, he could hear someone working in the kitchen, its door beyond the bar counter. 

It had to be Prum, the orc who ran the roadside inn. One of the friendliest NPCs in the game.

He headed over to the counter, a mess of empty tankards and jugs occupying it.

“Hey, you there?” he called out, tapping his knuckle on the countertop. 

“One second!” yelled a gruff, irritated voice from the kitchen.

Joel took the moment to peek over his shoulder towards the weirdo. He tried his best to be nonchalant, glancing at the corner. 

An empty seat sat next to a table. Both the hooded individual and their silver dagger were gone. 

He heard the kitchen doors opening, a clank of mugs following after. Prum. Joel relaxed, turning back on his bar stool.

“Look, Prum, I was wonde-”

His words caught in his throat. The person in front of him was not Prum. 

Instead, this person was an elderly… orc? They had orc-ish features: green-grey skin tone, jutting lower canines, and the imposing frame. 

But everything was a little off. The orc wasn’t nearly as tall as one might expect. His tusks were much smaller, and age made his back hunch over. 

Half-orc? Guess they added new races.

“Whattaya want?” growled the half-orc, placing the stack of mugs in his arms onto the table. “I didn’t see ya at last call. Were ya with the dwarves?”

“N-no, no,” he replied hastily, “Uh, I’m… travelling on my own.”

The half-orc narrowed his eyes, scratching his cheek through his patchy, white beard. It didn’t take a mind-reader to tell that he was suspicious.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak with Prum,” Joel tried to sound casual. “He in?”

“Hah, Prum?” scoffed the barkeep as he tied a ragged apron around his waist, “Sure, just dig around the backyard.”

“Pardon?”

“My great-grandfather’s been gone for a long time,” said the half-orc, tilting his head at Joel, “I’m surprised anyone remembers him, especially someone as young as ya. What’s your business with the dead?”

Dead? Great-grandfather? 

Joel’s mind spun. 

So it’s the future?

“Uh, I’d heard from family and friends that…” he stammered, scrambling to think of something to say. “Th-that anyone who did a job for Prum was destined to be a great adventurer!” Joel was fairly certain that was one of the scripted lines that Prum had. “I wanted to start my journey right.”

It wasn’t the most convincing lie but it’d have to do. 

“Name’s Joel by the way,” he said quickly, holding out his hand. Being friendly enough tended to go a long way.

“Gorum,” replied the barkeep, his rough hand nearly enveloping Joel’s as they shook, “Ya a little scrawny for an adventurer though. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Sorry that ya came from wherever but ya had to have figured that Old Man Prum would be gone by now. Gotta use ya wits when ya adventuring.”

Joel felt his face get red. 

“Not that it would’ve mattered much if he was even alive. He wasn’t the same after the Third Convergence. Not many survivors were.” 

Third Convergence? None of that rang familiar. He hadn’t even heard of the First or Second.

Joel just nodded, no reason to make himself appear more stupid. 

“Sorry, ya caught this old fogey rambling,” said Gorum, wiping down a mug, “How can I help ya? If ya looking for some proper room and board, I got a couple spots upstairs. Comes with a meal and two glasses of ale.”

Joel tried his best to not grimace. If only he had the coin.

“Actually, I was wondering if you had any work or knew where I could find some,” he said, scratching at the back of his dark hair with a sheepish smile. 

A doubtful frown appeared on Gorum’s wrinkled face. Joel could feel the half-orc sizing him up. 

“Hmm, don’t get much of ya adventurers anymore. Definitely haven’t seen a Freewalker in many moons. But I could use some help around here,” said Gorum, twirling his finger at the end of his long beard, the frown still set in stone. 

“I’ll take anything you got,” Joel said earnestly, trying his best at a winning smile. 

There was a small silence as Gorum continued to ruminate. The smile was starting to feel a little heavy. 

Gorum finally sighed, the frown breaking. “Alright, I think I got a small job for ya. It won’t pay much. A couple coppers. Plus some food and room for the night. That do?”

Immediately, Joel nodded. “More than enough for me. I appreciate it.”

Gorum guffawed, a deep guttural sound.

“Don’t go thanking me just yet. It’s not going to be pretty work,” he said, nodding over to the side hallway. “Do me a favor and clear out some of them rodents in the cold cellar. They only come out at night, so we usually leave each other alone. But I saw a few too many earlier in the day, skittering around the barrels.”

Rats in the cellar. A classic. Some things never change.

“Should be able to handle that,” Joel replied, clapping his hands together to show his enthusiasm. 

“Ya have a weapon or something?” Gorum asked, his brow rising. 

Joel froze, thinking back to his empty [Inventory].

“Uh…”

The half-orc let out a bigger sigh, heading back into the kitchen. A moment and a few clatterings later, Gorum reappeared with a broom, holding it out.

“That's all I got but ya gon’ have to make it work,” he said, shaking the broom for the young man to take it. 

Fashioned from dense wood, the broom felt unwieldy in Joel’s hands. It was made for a half-orc, not a human. The broomstick alone was taller than him. 

He returned a polite smile before dragging the heavy broom over towards the hall. It might have been a while but he’d never forget how to get to the cellar of the Berrygood Lodge.

“Mind ya step!” Gorum called out after him, “There should be a lantern on your left.”

Reaching the far end of the hall, Joel took the hanging lantern with his other hand. Leaning the broomstick against his shoulder, he opened the heavy wooden door. A long set of stairs disappeared into the darkness below. 

Each step down felt colder as the smell of damp earth and salted meats rose in the air. The dim lantern light cast silhouettes of several barrels and crates - each neatly stacked next to the walls. Uncertain, his grip around the broomstick tightened.

That’s when he spotted them. Several dozens of red, beady eyes peered out at him, scattered throughout the darkness. Holding the lantern out for more light, he took a half step back onto the staircase. That was a lot of…

Hamsters?

As the dim light shone over the stone floor, several plump hamsters all had their heads — their pudgy cheeks twitching — turned to him. Pausing, he had to admit that they were adorable. 

Until they charged. 

A stampede of furballs rushed together towards him, their squeaks crescendoing in unison. He swatted at them, slapping the broom down clumsily. He missed over and over again, as the agile critters dodged out of the way. 

One of them darted forward, an orange ball of courage, climbing on top of his leather boots. Struggling, the hamster bit down to no avail, unable to pierce the leather. 

He shunted the rodent with a half-assed kick, sending it flying into the herd of hamsters. Taking a step back, he crouched to carefully place the lantern on the steps above him. It’d be easier to wield the broom with two hands.

Another one of the hamsters took advantage, leaping out onto his foot. Shimmying above the boots, the little critter bit into his lower calf. The sharp pain was followed by a sudden warning.

[Damage taken. HP: 99%]

The pain was too acute, not the dull tap the game normally gave. Pain settings were managed meticulously. It was technically impossible for the game system to access certain pain thresholds.

But that had hurt.

Slapping the hamsters off of his leg, he swung the broomstick like a golf club. The sweep sent the hamster soaring. Its squeal trailed into the dark, ending in a soft thud. He felt a knot in his stomach, but the pain annoyed him enough to ignore it.

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained.]

Five? He was going to be here forever.

He kept retreating up the steps, the swarm of hamsters trailing after him. Anytime one broke from the pack, he gave them a heavy swipe. The length of the broom provided him some range to work with as he continued to smash away.

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained]

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained]

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained]

…

One after another, the alerts continued to fire off as he kept swinging. He moved up the staircase, step by step, arms tiring. He had lost count of how many he had defeated, concentrating on keeping them at bay. The swarm inched closer; the fuzzballs climbed each other to scale the steps. 

He’d got halfway up the stairs before a cluster of the hamsters slipped behind him. Leaping from the higher step, the hamsters scrambled up his back. They nipped wherever they could, spreading towards the rest of his lithe body. 

[Damage taken. HP: 98%]

[Damage taken. HP: 97%]

…

Damage taken, damage taken. He could barely pay attention to the barrage of alerts. Spinning, he swatted around himself, anything to stop the endless biting. His panic spiked as his HP steadily fell.

[Damage taken. HP: 80%]

[Damage taken. HP: 79%]

…

Desperate, Joel started to stomp to keep them away, to clear the hamsters off himself. He finally heard a crunch under his foot. With an angry grunt, he dug his heel down, ensuring it stayed dead. 

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained.]

Only to slip on the viscera of the smushed hamster. Gross.

Losing his footing, he toppled down, hitting the hamster-covered steps hard. As he tumbled, he could hear — feel — the squishing of rodents under his body weight. 

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained.]

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained.]

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained.]

…

The experience notifications cascaded in droves. It continued pinging as he rolled, a human avalanche. As he crashed to the bottom of the stairs, his head cracked off the floor. The world was reeling. 

[Damage taken. HP: 69%] 

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained.]

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained.]

[NOTIFICATION: Level Up Available!]

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained.]

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained.]

…

Wait, what was that? Level up?

The hamsters — biting and scratching — swarmed on top of him. Protecting his head, he cradled himself into a fetal position.

[WARNING: Prone (Status Effect). Tilt 1 afflicted.]

[Damage taken. HP: 65%] 

[Damage taken. HP: 63%] 

…

Disorientated, he didn’t have any time to digest what was pinging out at him. The mob of rodents covered him all over. Their shrill squeaks were disorientating enough without the pain. Panic rising, he shouted desperately.

“[Level Up], [Level Up]!”

[WARNING: Cannot level up outside of a safe zone. Please relocate to a safe zone.]

He cursed. How could he be so dumb? Of course he knew that. Only resting or inhabiting a safe zone gave him the opportunity to level up. And combat was neither of those things. 

Peeking through the shifting blanket of hamsters, he caught a glance of the door upstairs. Safe zone. The lodge’s common room would count. It always had.

[Damage taken. HP: 59%] 

[Damage taken. HP: 57%] 

…

His HP continued to tick down, faster than before. 

Was this it? 

Was he going to die here? 

Can he die here? Or would he just wake up at home? 

But, most importantly, was he going to die to fucking hamsters!?

A roar ripped out from him. A frenzied battle cry. Rolling onto his knees, he pushed to his feet. With another frantic sweep of his broom, he scattered the ones close to him. The remaining on him were relentless as they clung onto his body. 

Still yelling, Joel slammed his back into the wall. Several wet, popping crunches preceded the dings of the EXP notifications.

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained]

[Hamster defeated. 5 EXP gained]

…

Each step up the stairs felt heavy, the weight of the verminous tide dragging him down. He smashed himself into the walls, like a ricocheting ping-pong, to loosen the evil rodents off of himself. Both the reprieve from the pain and the flashing EXP alerts kept pushing him forward. 

Once he reached the door, Joel swung it open and threw himself through. Turning, while on the ground, he kicked the door shut. A few more angry swipes with his broomstick got rid of the hamsters that he had brought out with him. 

Clear of feral fuzzballs, he collapsed on the floor, gasping for air. He was happy to just be out of the cellar.

He laid there, staring at the ceiling of the hallway. As he slowly caught his breath, he wondered if this was his life now. Stuck here. Fighting hamsters. He felt that knot in his stomach tighten. If he was truly stuck here…

The thought of home flared across his mind. His parents, his sister. They’d be worried sick about his absence at their holiday dinner. 

No worries, fighting hamsters instead. 

It felt as ridiculous as it sounded.

“[Logout], please,” he thought one more time, hopefully. 

The silence threatened to overwhelm him. 

Shaking his head, he pushed that feeling of helplessness down deeper. He couldn’t get out. That meant the only thing to do was to go forward and up.

“[Level up].”

—

 

[NOTIFICATION: You are now level 1! Please select an available option below.]

 

[Class Level Up]

 

[Multiclass Level Up]

 

[Homebrew]

 

—

Homebrew? 

The other two options were self-explanatory, even familiar from the early access days. But he was clueless as to what that third option was. 

Joel shrugged, might as well get familiar with the unfamiliar.

“[Homebrew].”