A cloud of blue crystals erupted from the defeated boar, trailing off into the wind. McBern, a slim, spritely man, was weaving in and out of the tall grass', catching the gnarling beasts off-guard. He had been playing for a few hours now, killing no less than 40 creatures in the overgrown field. Reaching level 5 he decided to take a break and venture back into town, he had acquired a good amount of coin and had already out-grown some armor-it was definitely time to find a merchant. Wandeering down the dusty track, he surveyed the landscape and was totally in awe; to the far north stood a scarcely visible mountain range that towered above the clouds; to the west was lake, still and glistening from the sun's rays; the south housed the town of beginnings, it banners dancing with the breeze; and what appeared to be the edge of the world lay in the east.

In all honesty, McBern let out a sigh of relief. As he reached the town he acknowledged that this world was far nicer than his own, he wished he could stay forever in this place of strange creatures and mild weather. To go back to his desk-job, his small apartment, his solitude, it just didnt seem right.

Trading goods with a merry merchant, McBern walked away with 200 extra coin. He was just about to sample the delights of the bakery when he was encased in a white light, in nano-seconds he found himself in the square, surrounded by what looked like every single player in the game. There must have been tens of thousands of people, it made him feel quite nervous and so he attempted to back away. Swiftly he moved through the crowd, just as he had done in the grassland, reaching the edge and finding solace against a gigantic supporting column. The hurrendous buzzing of noise was cut off as each and every mouth lost their functions. McBern stepped from behind the marble structure and followed the wide-eyed gazes toward the newly ruby sky. 

He had hung on every word, believing every single syllable. There was something about Mister Kayaba, maybe his tone, that made everything seem so real, so imperative. The worst part of the whole scenario however was not found in the words, or the fate that clung to them, but rather in the mirror that had been gifted to him. Opening his inventory and withdrawing the mirror he held it to his face and froze; before him was not the slim and spritely figure he had so painstakingly designed, but rather the hulking, ginger-bearded and rather obese physical reality that was Bernard McArthur. Retreating behind the column once more, he trembled and cried. 

If anyone were to witness his emotional state, they would at first remark how strange it seemed for such a giant to be so weak. They may then presume his tears were a result of the recent news, but then they would be wrong. McBern was not afraid of death, he welcomed the chance to live here even if it were indefinitely. No, McBern was not crying in fear of the world around him, he was crying in fear that the real world had started to seep in.

Pulling himself together he began to run for the fields, he was fat, he was an outcast, but by god he would not be weak. There would soon be a sea of players trying to level up, time was of the essence and McBern had creatures to kill.