I wake up. Or do I? I don’t see anything resembling my room at The Think Tank. Am I dreaming? If I am, this is a strange dream. The terrain around me is pure white. I can’t see my body. I can’t feel it either.

  What’s going-

  Wait, I’m in the simulation already? I just got back to my room.

  What’s happened to my memories? Hello?

  A woman’s voice, slightly muffled but calm, echoes throughout the abyss, “Hello Mr Lancaster, sorry about the trouble. There was some data loss during the transition from meatspace. It sounds scarier than it actually is - short-term memory is harder to convert because the brain hasn’t finished working through it. We’re just about to attempt to reload the missing data, past test-subjects reported some discomfort, so just a heads-up.”

  I wake up. Or do I? I don’t really understand exactly how this whole thing is supposed to work. I have a basic understanding of neuroscience, naturally, but this is leagues beyond anything I’ve ever studied. The terrain around me is pure white. I can’t see my body. I can’t feel it either.

  Oh. That’s why. I’m still logging in, so to speak. My real body is covered in tubes and stuffed full of sedatives, hooked up to the computer via a space-age looking coffin.

  I blink. Then I realise, a moment later, I now have eyelids with which to blink, and unfamiliar hands, with calloused palms and thick fingers. With even thicker forearms, tanned skin marred by scar tissue from animal bites and scratches.

  My chest feels tight, breathing causes something stiff to dig into my flesh, and I note that I’m wearing a rusty chain-link vest.

  I wake up. For real, this time. It's a little after sunrise, and the light shining on my face disturbed my sleep.

  I'm sat on the grass, leaning against a tree trunk, about a half hour's walk away from my parents' lodge. Hm. My parents? Yes. My name is Nealan Lancaster. No. Nealan Forrester. This is strange. Not uncomfortable, per se, but the memories of two different people born of the same origin are jumbled up in my head. I recognise that I am, at my core, Cyril. But right now, I am Nealan.

  I draw my feet in and sit cross-legged, glancing over at the sack with what few travelling supplies I have left next to the tree roots.

  Guess that settles it. I'm on Eden, in the Righteous Monarchy of Whatever. Nealan never actually bothered to find out what the name of the country he lives in was, so that information appears to have been censored from my mind. I can recall knowing what the name is, but I can't access the information. There's probably a lot of similar blocks in place if I take the time to go through everything I've ever learned, but daylight's wasting and my parents aren't getting any younger.

  "Status," I speak aloud, in a voice that's not as deep as I remember it being, likely owing to my new age.

  A large window hovers about 50cm in front of my face. There's a lot to read through, but there's nothing too out there. As planned, I have the basis of a strong warrior type. My dexterity is a little lower than I was expecting, but in hindsight the details about how bad at taking care of my hair I was probably docked me a point or two.

  The only thing that really worries me is the Battle Hunger trait. In a tight situation, Adrenaline Rush could be the deciding factor in whether I live or die, but if I can't end the fight within 15 seconds of activating it I'm going to be up shit creek without a paddle. It'd pretty be much the definition of a last resort, if I was able to activate it when I wanted it. The cooldown of a week is also a pretty big drawback too.

  The bottom line is, that as situationally powerful as it can be, I absolutely cannot rely on it to carry me through fights.

  A second screen fades in as soon as the Status screen is dismissed. Looks like further difficulties have been dropped on me. Indeed, my memories as Nealan tell me that the tools required to view status are uncommon and expensive to use. Even more expensive to buy for yourself. Some guilds allow their members limited access to one of these items for free, like the Adventurer's Union who use it as part of the initiation process.

  Regardless, it's time I get going. The rainfall last night ruined my torch so I was delayed in getting home, but Mam has to be worried sick.

  I call her Mam. Really, Nealan?

  I take a swig of lukewarm stream water from my waterskin as I walk, wincing as the welts on my shoulder shift underneath the rough chainmail. My shirt is far too thin for this, and the armour itself really isn't a good fit. I'm feeling sore all over thanks to that detail. Mercifully my boots are long-since broken in so I don't have to worry about blisters on my feet as well.

  The road I'm following is barely worthy of the label. There's no money for grand roadbuilding projects and the labour required would be hard to acquire, to say nothing of the need to protect them from monsters.

  Off in the distance, I can see the Klennock Woods, my old childhood haunt. Da and Mam live in a lodge on the western edge, 10 minutes' walk from the village, which isn't far off now.

  Since I was last here, 3 years ago, give or take a month, the village has recovered nicely. There aren't as many buildings as before, but the Alderman has invested in a wooden palisade that surrounds the village. Da probably had to work himself ragged to get all those trees down to the village without me around to help him. I bite my lip, worry creeping in. I can't help but share in Nealan's concern for his father, and it's a familiar pain.

  Approaching the main gate, I'm stopped by a harsh shout from someone around my age with a shoddy bronze helmet strapped to his head and a bone-tipped spear. He's pretty lanky, with the beginnings of a blonde moustache that just make him look like an idiot.

  "Halt! This is Klennock Village. Armed travellers must relinquish their equipment before being allowed entry!" he declares, full of self-important bluster.

  I stare at him, unmoving, "Lonn, you need to see my Mam about your eyes if you don't recognise a local."

  Insulted, Lonn is about to brandish his spear at me when recognition flashes across his face and he takes a step back, sputtering, "E-err, Nealan! S-so good to see you back..here."

  He smiles nervously, fingers clenching and unclenching on the haft of his weapon.

  "Just get out the way, Lonn," I tell him curtly, before remembering something, "Actually, is the Alderman around? I should probably let him know I'm back for a few days."

  "Oh! He's probably in The Woodsman for breakfast. Otherwise, check his house. It's the big one with the barrow out front."

  I thank him, and move into the village, relishing in the nostalgia. Not far from the gate, is The Woodsman, a mediocre Inn with 2 floors and an ale cellar run by the Lanno family, who are actually minor nobility, believe it or not. Or at least, they're related to minor nobility, that's just what they tell their customers to make the inn look good.

  It's still early morning, so the streets are fairly clear as I open the heavy wooden door inward to a large common room, full of tables and stools made locally by Jann the carpenter with wood me and my Da collected. I like to think there's a little bit of me in every building in the village. Nealan does, anyway. Still getting used to that.

  Behind the long counter is a young woman, rather pretty if you ignore the unfortunately large nose, in an apron with curly black hair tied into a bun. If memory serves, her name is Lizzle.

  Seeing me enter, her expression shifts from boredom to the trademark 'service' smile adopted by retail workers the world over since the concept of merchants was invented. She opens her mouth to give a rehearsed spiel, but stops, shocked.

  "Oh my stars and days, Neal! It's been years!" She exclaims, throwing down a dirty rag she was wiping the counter with and rushing out to greet me, "You've certainly grown! I almost didn't recognise you."

  I grunt, in response, rolling my eyes, "At least someone remembers me. When Lonn stopped me at the gate I swear he was so overcome with nerves he was about to scream 'Bandit' in my face and throw his spear at me."

  Lizzle giggles, "Don't be too hard on him. He's been pretty tightly wound since you left. He looks up to you, y'know?"

  I sigh, "I couldn't begin to understand why. Have you seen the Alderman? Lonn said he might be here, but obviously, he's not."

  Lizzle smiles apologetically, "You just missed him. But he'll back in an hour, so if you want, I can pass him a message?"

  I think about it for a moment, then nod, "Works for me. Just tell him I'm back for a couple days. Don't know how long exactly, but I'll be back at home if something comes up."

  "No problem. You're going straight home, then?" She asks, eyes wide as if anticipating something other than a curt 'Yes'.

  I feel no need to change tacks now, "Yes."

  Disappointed, Lizzle pouts, "Be sure to visit me later, ok? I want to hear stories! The first mug's my treat."

  She winks, and I groan inwardly, recalling that Lizzle used to have a bit of a crush on Nealan before he left. I caught her staring more than once when I helped lift kegs off wagons for her father. She seems to have a thing for strong men since I also recall her flirting with a few of the Loranics while the Captain was extorting payment from the Alderman.

  "I'll think about it. Anyway, be seeing you," I turn and leave, perhaps a bit quicker than is probably necessary.

  The lodge is exactly as I remember it. Single story, made almost entirely out of logs, save for the roof which is a mixture of slate tiles and some sort herbal tar Mam cooked up to seal the cracks.

  Overcome with emotion - worry, anticipation, guilt - I knock on the door and call out to my mother, "Mam? I'm back."

  There is a brief, silent pause before the scurrying off feet rushes to the door and opens it, damn near breaking my nose as it swings out, only missing by a hair's breadth. Mam, a short woman in her late thirties with greying hair stands in the doorway, panting heavily.

  Then, she starts to cry.

  "Welcome home, son," she sniffs, pulling me into a hug.

  I feel my face flush, and my eyes sting as I hold back tears of my own, my memories mixing and churning together with Nealan's.

  "Yeah...I'm home."