“That is the point,” Cipher chips in. “Leveling up in power should never be easy or else everyone would be Tier Five’s.”
I frown. “What’s wrong with everyone being a Tier Five?” I ask. “It would level the playing field.”
He laughs, but the sound is hollow. “Oh, Vesper,” he breaths. “The playing field is never even. It never has been. It never will be.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“If everyone was a Tier Five . . . humanity would just find another detail to judge each other for, another reason to keep someone else down. Here, it is your Tier, your power, your gender, your rank. On Earth, there were many judgements. Skin color, religion, gender, generation, clothing choices, age. It is endless. Humankind is incapable of existing on an even playing field, as much as I wish that it could.”
“How . . . disappointing,” I murmur. “I know you said humanity destroyed Earth, but I’d hoped that?—”
“That your ancestors were different?” he finishes. “Alas, it is a curse of humanity to carry the failures of those before you. You cannot escape the destruction that is carried in your blood.” He pauses. “You really should try the hot dog. This place existed for almost two hundred years on Earth for a reason.”
“Alright, alright,” I grunt, gesturing for the man behind the stand to give me one. He doesn’t say a word as he passes me the hot dog. His eyes are wide in horror, like he wants to scream, but he doesn’t speak a word. His movements are jerky, like he’s being controlled on strings. “Are you . . . okay?” I ask him.
He doesn’t reply. Those eyes just stare at me, practically begging me for help as I take a bite of the hot dog. It is actually very good. I would not have thought dogs could taste like this.
“Cipher?”
“Do not worry about the NPC,” Cipher answers. “He is a newer NPC in the cycle and has yet to accept his role.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I growl.
“Did you think your soul is wasted if you die within the Harrow, Vespera?” he asks.
My stomach churns and the food in my stomach threatens to rise back up. I stare at the man, at the horrified expression in his eyes, and take a jerky step backward.
“All of the NPCS . . .”
“Were once players,” Cipher finishes. “Yes. How else would this place be possible?”
Horror fills me and I set the hot dog back on the counter, placing my hands against it to catch the breath that had been knocked out of me. Every NPC, the coins taken from us before we enter the Harrow, the NPCs in the Rune Stock Exchange killing themselves for the script, the ones I’d seen abused.
“Can they feel pain?” I croak. “Are they aware?”
Cipher hesitates to answer, which gives me the answer I’m looking for before he even opens his mouth.
“Yes,” he finally responds. “To both questions.”
“I think I’m going to be sick,” I murmur, covering my mouth.
“This is a better option than the alternative, Vespera. Their soul being recycled as an NPC guarantees that they remain in the?—”
“What’s the alternative?” I ask, angry. Some of the NPCs are given more freedom than others. Some of them are forced to read a script. What determines their level of freedom? What determines where they go?
“I cannot tell you,” Cipher answers. “There are no current loopholes to exploit.”
“You choose, don’t you?” I rasp, still horrified. “It’s you who puts them here.”
Cipher doesn’t respond. He clearly understands what I’m getting at, where I’m leading with this.
I look at the hot dog stand NPC again, at the horror in his eyes. “Will you do this to me if I die?” I growl. “Will you make me your slave?”
Cipher sighs, the sound heavy and foreboding. “Do not die, Vespera.”
How much choice does the system have? How much control?
I have a feeling I’ll soon find out.
