His fingertips brushed against soft fabric where there was once air, warmth crawling up his body as the heavy sheets materialized.  Just having sat in a chair, he felt himself become vertical, lying on the creaky twin bed he’d become accustomed to.  He waited for the shifting of sensation to stop before he opened his eyes and stretched out his hands in front of him, the leather of his fingerless gloves creasing around his hands. It always took him a few seconds to adjust after entering the game—a pressure in the back of his head lasted until he exited. He appreciated it. If the game felt completely realistic people would develop a dependency on it.  Not that the game let them; time limits were implemented since the creation of immersive VR.

He threw off the blanket and went to his writing desk, grabbing his weapon belt and attaching it to his waist.  He tapped on his pants pocket and a screen appeared in front of him with slots of items; he swiped through the different categories and made sure he had potions, weapons, and lockpicks.  Tonight was going to be a fun one.  He grinned and left the room, heading downstairs. 

The floor was buzzing with patrons, and he moved to take a seat at the bar, waving a hand at the bartender who brightened and waved back.

“Hey Emerson!” The bartender approached him with a friendly grin, ”Anything I can get for you? You look like you need a captain.”

“No thanks, Rooke,” Emerson rolled his eyes and smiled, ”You know what I’m here for.  And thank you again for taking care of this shift for me.”

“Yeah, no problem. You’ll have way more fun running around dungeons tonight anyway.  Be sure to get the goods, ok? Don’t get too distracted by the social dynamics of the guards.”

“Hah! You got it.”

They grasped hands and Rooke slipped him a slip of paper before winking and going back to his other patrons.  Emerson pocketed it and left the inn, slipping behing the building and into an alleyway.  It was night now, and as he moved further and further away from the main square, where the popular Rhubarb Inn was located, it became darker and quieter.  Fog creeped above him as he moved to the outskirts of the city—concrete turning to greenery—until he was surrounded by it. There was nothing but the fog anymore.  He pulled up the dark mask hanging around his neck to cover his lower face, and smiled against the fabric.

His map told him he was near the Thorne’s Keep.  It was a large, stone property located on the fringe of the city, with members of the faction being renowned for their cautious play styles. NPC Guards patrolled the area 24/7, but they would always switch up their routines.  Being machines, they weren’t truly randomized, and Rooke had helped him figure out the pattern.  They would be sparse in the right wing tonight, enough so that news of an invasion could be cut off with the right people.  He had brought enough skill and items to do that—illusion and misdirection was his specialty.  

He tugged his cape around his shoulders—the ends of it disappearing into shadowy tendrils lapping at his feet—and lept to a ledge in the back. As he landed lightly on his feet, a notification popped up and read “You’re now entering unauthorized area.  Proceed with caution.”  He peered in through a window; there was a small hallways with no guards.  Any other day and there would be one walking back and forth without rest. He pushed open the window and stepped into the room and on the luxurious red carpet that covered the floor.  He pulled his cape more fully over his body and his whole being seemed to become shadow. It would not last long—he had to move.