by Rachel Aaron
James’s jaw dropped. Up till now, he’d assumed his hallucination would line up with reality, at least a little bit, but this was like nothing he’d ever seen. The dirt street outside the yurt was flooded with jubatus. Like his character, the cat-people were as lithe and muscular as the cheetahs they’d been modeled after, complete with unique spotted patterns on their sand-colored fur. They all had whiskers, tails, claws, and other animal features, but they walked on two legs and had five-fingered hands, just like humans. Their catlike faces had human expressions, too, and right now, every one of them looked overwhelmed by emotion. Some were weeping. Others were shouting with joy, the sound he’d heard. Still more just looked stunned, staring at the village as though they’d never seen it before.
It certainly didn’t look how James remembered. The village of Windy Lake was the main town for the mid-level savanna zone. It was a small town with a few quest-givers, some trainers, and just enough yurts to make it look lived in. Now, though, the village looked more like a city. The tents were still laid out in the same orderly grid he remembered from the game, but there were ten times more than there had been. Likewise, the lake he could see glittering in the distance between the tent lines was huge, far bigger than the blue pond it had been before. The only thing that hadn’t changed was the land itself. It was still completely flat, a problem since he lived in a third-floor apartment. The stairwell could be right in front of him, and he wouldn’t know until he took a step on what looked like flat dirt road and fell to his death.
Swallowing, James looked again, scouring the street for any match to the real world. The more he looked, though, the weirder things got. The sun blazing down on the dirt road and the dry yellow grassland beyond was augmented by lights he had no explanation for. Bright-green glowing ribbons—the same ones he’d seen earlier behind his closed eyelids—drifted up from the ground to mix with sharp white streamers in the sky. If he hadn’t been so concerned for his sanity, they would have been beautiful, but James had no time for more weirdness right now, so he put the dancing lights out of his mind and focused on moving without killing himself.
Assuming he was still near his bed, he thought the stairs should have been outside the tent and to the left. Clenching his jaw, James took a cautious step into the road, sliding his bare foot along the ground, but all he felt was hard, warm dirt, which didn’t make any sense. Even if he couldn’t see it, there should have been a drop. He must have gotten turned around somehow, but there was no correcting it. The neat grid of tents didn’t translate to his apartment in any way, and he didn’t see anything that might represent objects in the real world. No blocks that could have been a door or their apartment couch. It made an infuriating lack of sense even for a dream, and the continued strangeness of the cat-people’s behavior was starting to annoy him as well.
The crowd he’d heard earlier was all around him now. Across the street, an old feline man was sitting on the ground, laughing and crying at the same time. Farther down the road, a pair of warriors had fallen over and were singing enthusiastically at the sky, their yellow eyes shining with wild, reckless joy. There were just as many people weeping as rejoicing, and more were appearing all the time. Watching them stumble out of their tents into the street, James had to wonder if this wasn’t Leylia’s after all. Maybe he’d just gone plain old crazy.
Hands shaking, he reached up to poke the tall, catlike ears on top of his head. In game, they were normal for his character model to have, but he’d never felt them before since FFO’s Human Analogue Translation System didn’t convey sensation from nonhuman features. The same went for his tail, which had always been more of an accessory than an actual part of his body. Now, though, James could feel the weight of the long, furred appendage behind him, helping him balance. Moving his tongue around, he found an entire mouthful of sharp, predatory teeth, none of which had been there before, and the wind that made his whiskers twitch was the freaky icing on the freaky sensory cake.
If the additions hadn’t been so clearly part of him, it would have felt alien. People with Leylia’s always described their episodes as highly realistic, but James was certain he’d never, ever felt something like this before. This wasn’t like dreaming you had long hair or were eight feet tall. This was entirely new sensory input, like seeing a new color. James didn’t even know if he could effectively communicate his problem to a stranger right now. What he needed was to wake up, which meant it was time for the nuclear option, personal safety be damned.
Though much bigger, the dream town still resembled Windy Lake village. The park near his apartment also had a lake, and James was willing to bet that its lake and the Windy Lake lined up. It was late April in Seattle, so the water would still be frigid, definitely cold enough to snap him out of whatever was going on. If nothing else, throwing himself into a lake might result in rescue and a trip to the emergency room, where he could get professional help.
That sounded like a win-win to James, so he swallowed his fear and started striding down the road, walking past the weeping and laughing cat-people without a word. Now that he was moving, he saw again just how much larger this town was than the one in the game, giving him hope that what he saw might line up with reality. The park was at least half a mile from his apartment, and so seemed to be the Windy Lake.
Encouraged, he picked up the pace, keeping to the side of the road in the hope of avoiding the cars he couldn’t see. He was trying to figure out if the acacia trees he could see in the distance matched the large oaks by the lake path he sometimes jogged down when the air was split by the enormous booming of a drum.
All around him, the frantic cat-people went silent, their large ears flicking in the direction of the drum. Then as if that had been a signal, they all stopped what they’d been doing and started walking toward the center of town. Since he had to go that way to get to the lake anyway, James joined them, hoping that following other ‘people’ might protect him from getting hit by a bus.
A minute later, he reached the edge of the plaza at the middle of the village. The open square looked identical to the one he remembered from the game, complete with the iconic giant war drum at the center. Behind that was the two-story Naturalists’ lodge, the only all-wood structure in the village. The crowd stopped when they hit the square, but the lake was still a good distance away. Sniffing, James smelled water on the wind. He was about to leave the crowd and follow it to the shore when someone started hammering on the war drum like they were trying to break it.
He looked up in alarm. The five-foot-wide wood-and-hide drum was elevated above the crowd of swishing tails and flicking cat ears by a large wood platform. Standing on it, pounding the drum with heavy mallets, was a muscular jubatus decked in feathers, fangs, and a painted suit of plate armor that, to his enormous surprise, James recognized. It was the village’s head warrior, Arbati.
The sight made James rub a hand over his face. Here he was, going as mad as a hatter, and the first person he “knew” was the most obnoxious non-player character in all of FFO. Every new jubatus character had to spend hours here, completing quests that mostly involved repeatedly rescuing Arbati from his own impatience and poor judgment. If James thought Tina had a temper, Arbati could take anger management lessons from the Hulk. He was so famously annoying, he even had his own internet meme called Angry Cat.
James didn’t know what Arbati the Angry Cat’s appearance in his dream meant, but he’d already decided he didn’t care. He turned back toward the lake and tried to push through the crowd only to discover that he was trapped. In the few moments he’d been gawking at Arbati, so many jubatus had arrived in the square that what had been the edge of the crowd was now its center, and James was in the middle of it.
Cursing under his breath, James rocked back on his heels to consider his options. He could try pushing his way through, but he didn’t want to accidentally hurt anyone who might be real. He definitely didn’t want to risk starting a fight. Of course, for all he knew, these “people” were just
bushes, but James didn’t want to risk hurting others unless he absolutely had to. Looking up at the warrior, who was still banging the drum, James decided to bide his time. If they moved on their own, he’d continue to the lake. If he stayed here, maybe someone would notice him acting crazy and call the cops, saving him from potentially drowning.
That was as good a plan as any, especially since he didn’t have a choice. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait much longer. The square was already nearly full. When the crowd was packed all the way to the tents, the person James’s delusional vision saw as Arbati stopped drumming and turned around to assist a gray-furred old cat-lady in a feathered headdress onto the war drum’s platform. When she reached the top, James realized with a shock that he knew her, too. It was Gray Fang, the stern old battle-ax of a grandma who served as the spiritual leader of Windy Lake.
Seeing her sent James’s worry into overdrive. Arbati was the subject of a famous meme, which made him easy to remember, but Gray Fang was just a normal NPC. James only recognized her because his character was a Naturalist, and Gray Fang was the Naturalist class trainer. But seeing Non-Player Characters was a textbook symptom of Leylia’s. He was working himself into a panic again when Gray Fang—or the poor person he’d hallucinated was Gray Fang—swept her hand over the crowd.
“It has happened at last,” she said when they fell silent. “The Nightmare has finally broken.” She lifted her clawed hands in blessing. “We are free!”
The crowd roared in reply. Even now that his hearing was more or less back to normal, the noise was deafening. James was rubbing his ears when a potbellied cat-man grabbed his shoulder and started crying on him in joy. James was desperately trying to wiggle free when the elder motioned for silence again.
“Our world returns to normal, and we are able to move once more,” she said. “But we know not how or why we were imprisoned these last eighty years. We know not where the ‘players’ of the Nightmare came from, where they went, or if they’ll return.”
The way the grandmotherly old cheetah said “players” made James’s ears flatten. It wasn’t just the hatred in her voice. It was the emotion that word drew from the crowd. All around him, jubatus were flexing their clawed hands and flashing their sharp teeth. Even the children looked murderous, snarling around their baby fangs. Suddenly, it didn’t matter if this was a delusion. The crowded square was now somewhere James very much did not want to be. But as he started to push his way through the mob, a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air.
“Player!”
He, and everyone else, whirled around to see a tall old jubatus at the back of the square, pointing a shaking claw at James. “I see you! You’re not one of us! You’re a player! Player!”
The jubatus around him scurried away, leaving James standing alone in a widening circle. The entire crowd was looking at him now, hundreds of slitted cat eyes tightening in rage. Then as if answering an unheard signal, the angry mob surged toward him, their clawed hands grabbing his clothes, his fur, his skin—every part they could.
“Monster!” they screamed. “Slaver!”
“I’m not!” James cried, putting his hands up. “I didn’t—”
A rock smashed into his head. James staggered back, blinking as hot blood began to trickle through his fur. As it dripped into his eyes, he noticed that the strange glowing streamers that had haunted his vision since this madness had started were getting brighter, their curling lengths twitching above him like a rope tossed to a drowning man.
Desperate and terrified, James reached up to grab the closest one—a gray-white tendril that glowed like the inside of a cloud. His fingers passed right through it—no surprise there since this whole thing was a hallucination—but what was surprising was that the moment he touched it, James knew what the glowing ribbon was. Lightning. He couldn’t explain how even to himself, but something deep inside him was certain the floating light was lightning. Air magic in lightning form to be specific, and he knew how to use it.
Clutching a hand to his chest, James pulled up the deep-blue mana from inside himself. It was the same motion he’d used to cast spells in the game, but unlike every other command he’d tried, this one worked. When he felt his own magic rising, he reached up to grab the ribbon of lightning again. This time, with his hands filled with his power, the white light stuck fast to his fingers, letting him yank it down into his fists. It was the same motion he used to cast lightning spells in FFO, a motion he’d done a thousand times. Bright-white electricity arced from his fingers as James brought the power together, and the attacking crowd began to back away.
James smiled as they retreated. He was wreathed in lightning now, and the power was glorious but also comfortingly familiar. He’d never been this close to it, but he’d played long enough to recognize the shape of the electricity arcing between his hands. It was chain lightning, the Naturalist class’s staple attack spell.
His smile turned into a triumphant grin. As he was a level eighty in the low-level Windy Lake, one spell would be enough to kill anyone in the crowd. Even better, chain lightning jumped between targets, and the jubatus were nicely clumped together. With this kind of target density, the magic that was already in his hands could devastate the entire square, leaving him free to run. If he could get to the lake, maybe this horrible hallucination would finally end, then he could apologize for whatever the hell had actually happened here.
The finished spell was throbbing in his hands, and James decided that the warrior holding the rock that was red with his blood would be a fine opening target. But as he began the motion to let the spell go, people turned and started to flee.
An old jubatus lady scrambled backward on all fours, tears streaking down her dusty face. Beside her, a man grabbed his young son and turned around, shielding the boy from James with his body. Others simply ran, crashing into the people behind them in their rush to escape. Even though he knew it was a dream, the fear on display in front of him was so real, James felt it echoing in his body, making him wonder for the first time if maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t a hallucination at all.
Sweat drenched his fur as he clutched the magic tight, fighting the spell as he scrambled to think things through. This couldn’t actually be the game. He could smell his blood and the hot hate of the mob in the dusty air. Feel the intense, throbbing pain from the rock that had struck his head. None of that was possible in FFO or in life as he knew it. Pain was common enough, but the wild lashing of his tail and the instinct that kept his catlike ears flat against his skull were utterly alien. Even with Leylia’s, it didn’t seem possible that he could dream entirely new sensations. No theory he’d come up with could properly explain what was happening, and if he couldn’t explain it, then James needed to make a decision fast. The lightning in his hands had to go somewhere soon, but if he released it without knowing the consequences, there was a chance that “target density” might translate into real lives. Because if this wasn’t the game and it wasn’t a lucid dream, the only explanation left was that this was real, which meant he was about to become a mass murderer.
That was a risk he couldn’t stomach, so James thrust his hands into the air, loosing the lightning he’d built into the clear blue sky. The tree-trunk-sized bolt left his hands with a thunderclap that flattened the crowd. Then there was complete stillness. No one moved. No one shouted. Everyone, James included, stared fearfully at each other, waiting to see what came next. The standoff was still going when weakness crashed into James like a wall.
He staggered, clutching his chest as his head began to spin. He was worried he’d damaged something inside him with the lightning when he remembered that he’d taken off all his gear before he’d logged out last time and hadn’t yet tried to reequip anything. Chain lightning didn’t normally take much of his mana, but without his magical armor and staff, one casting was enough to drain him nearly dry.
James closed his eyes with a wince. That had to be it. He wasn’t hurt. He was low on mana, yet another sign
that things weren’t what he’d thought. Nervously, he looked around at the crowd he’d just spared, debating if he should run for the lake anyway. He was already edging toward the scent of the water when a yell broke the silence.
“Enough!”
The terrified crowd parted as the tall cat-warrior, Arbati, leaped off the drum platform. There was no hint of fear or hesitation as the jubatus marched toward him. James was opening his mouth to say… something. He wasn’t sure what, but before he could get a word out, the warrior decked him in the jaw with a gauntleted fist.
The stinging blow smashed him straight into the dirt. He was trying to push back up when the warrior kicked him in the ribs.
“Bring me rope and a sealing mask!” Arbati called, planting his boot on James’s neck to keep him down.
Reeling from the attacks and still weakened from the spell, James didn’t even manage to get his hands up before someone brought Arbati what he’d asked for. The warrior rolled James onto his stomach and tied his hands behind his back with what felt like a strip of leather. The binding bit painfully into his wrists, but things got even worse when the elder jubatus, Gray Fang, shuffled down from the drum platform and began smearing James’s face with what felt like cold mud.
It was so sudden, James didn’t even think to struggle as the old lady smashed the dirt into his fur. He’d never seen anything like this in the game before, but her rough claws painted his face with practiced ease, layering the mixture on until only his eyes, nose, and mouth were left uncovered. When she was finished, the old Naturalist reached up to snag a handful of the glowing magical lights James had been watching all morning.