With all the sounds, sights, and other senses in this game, Marcus could see how someone could find themselves too immersed to forget the passage of time. In fact, if not for the notification, he wouldn't have realized that he had spent a couple of hours in-game and only think that he had just been inside for a small fraction of that.

Alone, Marcus closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The scent of rust mixed with machine exhaust and unburnt fuel from the landers coming in and taking off filtered through his nostrils. It reminded him of his Uncle’s machine shop he worked at during his high school days.

A fresh breeze came through the overhang where the ship opened up, brought with it the grittiness of pulverized concrete. Marcus looked out. The overhang gave an astounding view of the devastated city, of which the ship was smack in the middle. It was arid. There was almost no greenery within view, with the ship being the only obvious human habitation within sight.

With nothing else to see, Marcus went further inside. He walked past a lander unloading its occupants who were streaming towards the hall in the end. Marcus followed along without a word. Nobody minded him as all were busy with their conversations among the others within their group.

At the end of the short hall, they reached a heavy double door. It opened up to a bustling marketplace. Players walked amongst the NPCs, distinct from their mishmash of gear and weapons on their backs compared to the NPCs who simply wore normal clothes, unbothered by the heavily armed pedestrians.

The interior space was massive. If not for Marcus witnessing that he was landing in a ship during the approach, he would have mistaken this place for somewhere else. The central avenue where people walked could easily accommodate two trucks moving alongside each other. Buildings reaching up three floors lined the avenue, stalls, and stores occupied their ground floor facing the center where the pedestrians funneled through. The upper floors looked to be private dwellings, and from where he stood, Marcus could see hotels, bars, even signs for bathhouses, which looked to cater more for the NPCs rather than players.

 

'Pretty much a whole lot of nothing', Marcus thought to himself.

 

The smell of searing meat drifting through the air was enough for Marcus to look away from his screen towards the source. Meats skewered on sticks are cooked under burning hot coals whose smoke trailed up to an exhaust hood, connected to pipes that led outside the ship. Even with the smoke mitigation, the aroma of the food was not to be contained.

The matronly shopkeeper running the grill noticed Marcus looking and asked. “Would you like to buy some, young man? I marinated it in a special sauce overnight.”

“It smells good,” Marcus admitted, licking the corner of his mouth, wiping away the drool that threatened to trail out of it. “Looks good too.”

It had been too long since he tasted grilled meat. He had done his best to track down some restaurant that served them, but with Mars’ recycled air, Marcus doubted if it was even legal to cook with charcoal within the planet. “But does it taste as good as it looks, though?”

“Oh, you’re breaking my heart, young man. I wouldn’t dare sell any of my food and set up a stall if it weren’t tasty.”

“I gotta warn you, I have high standards when judging grilled meat. I might break your heart even more.”

“Well, you should be glad to hear that I also have high standards when cooking them.” She smiled, "Probably even higher than yours."

“Okay. Should I know what these meats are then? Or is it better if I don’t find out?”

She grinned. “I think it’s better if I tell you later. Would you want to try one out? I’ll give you a bit to taste for free. See if they will fit your taste.”

“Whenever I hear first taste is free, it comes from dealers pushing drugs. First time to hear that coming from lovely a woman selling grilled meat on a stall.”

She laughed, picking a sharpened stick from a cup and skewered a piece that just finished cooking. “They're only for sweet young men with high tastes. People do buy a couple more after they get a piece in their mouths. So it’s a risk you’ll have to take, young man. I can tell you it's just as addictive as any other drug.”

Marcus took the skewered meat and inspected it. The meat glistened under the artificial lights, with a faint trail of steam rising from the slightly charred exterior. ‘Goddamn.’ Marcus thought to himself. ‘Even food got this level of detail.’ He sniffed and ate the entire piece, closing his eyes as he tasted the sweet-flavored meat seasoned with crushed peppers and spices of which Marcus couldn’t place. He sighed. It had been too long since he tasted something so good, even if it was artificial. “Gotta say, it’s pretty good. So can I know what it is?”

“It’s pork, young man. My sons raise them outside the city.” The lady replied, smiling.

 

“I should get you for pushing this drug on me." Marcus muttered, loud enough for the lady to hear, "Okay, I’ll buy one. I’ll maybe come back for another later.” Marcus said, pulling out the Credit Chit from his inventory and scanning it on the till. With a beep, the transaction came through. Marcus watched and waited as the stall owner wrapped up an already cooked skewer. “You know, I just got here, so I’m just curious. What happened in this city?”

“War happened young man. You can have a seat over there.” She sighed, pointing to the stools near a small counter on the side. One was occupied by a bearded NPC who looked at him and simply nodded.

 

Marcus took the seat, feeling the cozy atmosphere with the small radio playing some music added with the background droning of other people in the background. He took another bite, enjoying the juiciness of the piece, and could see himself being a regular at this place.

Deep in thought, he theorized that the NPC relations are as important to getting information out of NPCs as the Charisma stat. He shrugged, 'it made sense, given as no general would tell a passing rockstar state secrets or military dispositions even though how much he liked the guy.' It was also apparently a hidden stat, but not that much difficult to find out as it would be easy to discern your current level if some NPC tells you to piss off.

“Here, have something to drink too.” The lady said, coming over and handing him a cup of water and a cold pitcher.

Marcus ate while he read. Just like every MMO game, it needed money sinks. Hunger and thirst is a simple feature to sink money into. Marcus wouldn’t be surprised if there would also be taxes put on players owning properties in the game. ‘Ammo would be a good place too,’ Marcus thought to himself as he finished his skewer and finished the skewer along with the cup of water.

“Thanks for the food. But I gotta go.” He said, nodding and returning the cup and throwing the rest into the trash.

“Be careful out there young man.” The stall keeper replied.

 

 

Marcus left the stall and continued down the avenue. Looking at the map, it turned out that the level below is where the Armory and the shooting range are located, that along with the post office which should lead to the completion of his personal quest.

Finding a cargo lift leading down, Marcus joined in on the rest of his fellow low leveled players, distinct from the others by their gray overalls. With a heavy clank, the security doors closed. The gaps between the metal gave a full view outside the elevator. It slowly lowered itself into the floor, showing thick cables running underneath, then opening up to reveal another massive compartment inside the ship.

Tarp-covered trucks lined alongside armored cars and tracked vehicles. All were parked alongside each other in a closed-off area in the middle of the compartment. Weapons were mounted on the trucks, ranging from 12.7mm M2 brownings and 14.7mm Dushkas for the smaller vehicles up to Bushmaster chain guns and artillery pieces for the larger tracked vehicles. A collective ‘whoa’ sounded out of everyone’s mouths, for which Marcus could only agree. He had the same reaction when he saw his first tank in a show, back when he was still a kid.

The elevator reached the bottom. Everyone inside filled out. Some continued towards the Armory, while the rest lingered to check up on the vehicles. Marcus was part of the latter group and came closer to the line of vehicles to have a better view, only for a shrill whistle to stop him in his tracks.

A man wearing an armored vest, camouflaged in a digital gray white pattern, sat behind an M2 Browning machinegun. He pointed to the line painted on the floor ahead of Marcus. He got the message and nodded, content on watching the vehicles from the distance and not getting shot over it. There were Humvees, JLTVs, and even some of their Russian counterparts like the BMP and TIGR vehicles. All were painted in the same gray, white digital camouflage. There were other vehicles too, whose design Marcus couldn’t point out which could be something other countries used in their armies or have not yet been made back then when he was still awake.

A soldier wearing a similar pattern stood to the side, watching the gawkers as they got an eyeful and went on with their way. Cradled in his arms is a PKM machinegun, his eyes shifting through the armored glass of his Atlyn helmet.

“You guys look pretty set up,” Marcus asked as he approached. “You mind telling me which group you guys belong to?”

“Interchange.” The soldier answered, looking to be already full of it. Likely from answering the same questions from hundreds of other curious people. “We're part of a trade convoy running supplies. Were not looking for recruits, and if you got anything else to ask, you would have to talk to that guy over there.” He said, nodding over to the man behind the machinegun.

He looked up at the machine gunner as he met his gaze and put his hands over the M2's spade grips. “Thanks then. Have a good day.” Marcus replied then walked away. He was only after a casual conversation anyway, and in no terms wasn’t looking to join any other faction at the moment.

 

The post office was next to the vehicle bay and was easy to find. Its doors slammed open as a group left. The look on their faces painted the same emotion, pissed. Curious, Marcus entered and was met by a haggard-looking man who forced a tired smile on his arrival. He stood on the other side of the counter, with bars separating his side from the customers. Behind the man, Marcus could see the shelves empty.

Marcus looked around as he approached the counter. The benches provided for waiting customers were thrashed. The plastic seats bolted into the steel frame had been shattered and thrown around the room. A trashcan had been upended, and the contents scattered. “Let me guess, my package isn’t here.” He said, giving the slip for his claim.

“We’re terribly sorry, sir. No package has arrived for a week. We are currently tracking them down, but they seem to have been misplaced by the dispatch facility. We are currently awaiting if there are any developments but it is uncertain whether our post will receive the whole or even part of the packages.”

Marcus should’ve guessed. The quest’s description was too straightforward to be simple. “So no package then? I guess that explains the ‘renovations’ done here.”

“We are terribly sorry, sir.” The man said, defeated.

“No worries, I’m sure it will come out in the future, one way or another,” Marcus replied, turning back. "You know what, I think you should just put a sign up front rather than talking directly to people and getting shit for it," he said as he left. The man might be an NPC, built by code to mimic a person, but the look of defeat in the man’s face looked so genuine that Marcus even felt sorry for the guy. Still, his quest hasn’t been failed yet, which meant that he could still complete it.

---

Slowly getting cancer from this scuffed table system.  Here is what is should look like.