Free Continue Online (Part 4, Crash) by Stephan Morse

wall of people snoring. If I concentrated there were tiny player and autopilot indicators floating up above. Glancing around revealed two NPCs in substantial armor escorting this prison cart. No one else, just two. There was a tower far in the distance that looked vaguely familiar. Not [The Lone Tower] where the [Mistborn] resided, but one that Beth had probably talked to me about.
    I tried to flip through my notes for half an hour while our cart meandered onward. It felt slower than the [Callibur] s by miles. We must have spent ten minutes passing by a single tree.
    “Hey,” someone behind me whispered quietly. “Hey, you’re online right?”
    It took me a few moments to register the words. The tower’s name eluded me, my notes for this region were minimal. I must have passed through at high speeds with [Blink] and [Lightbody] helping me.
    “You there? You’re not a mute, right?” the other person whispered. Their voice didn’t sound familiar. There was a jingle to it that was almost southern, but crisp. I tried to turn my head around but there was something bolted to my neck that made it impossible.
    “Deaf, you mean?” I asked. Shazam had been mute. The idea made me sad briefly but hopefully, this guy behind me couldn’t tell what my face looked like. I had to remind myself that everyone here was a major criminal in the eyes of this game.
    “Daft?” This stranger sounded honestly confused. “You daft then?”
    “Deaf, as in hard of hearing. And no, I was distracted.” I was beginning to suspect this person was daft, as in not entirely there.
    “Shut it, convicts!” one of the two guards yelled.
    “Oh. Yeah. That. Are you daft?” he whispered the question. Maybe the man was just screwing with me, he did sound kind of amused.
    I raised an eyebrow and leaned my head back slightly. Both hands were bound to a bar in front. Hopefully, this other person had been tied up too. There was a man to my left who looked bolted down in a similar fashion. Part of me wanted to exercise the full extent of my abilities upon this man’s body. All those weeks of pent-up aggression with the repetitive customer complaints. The idea of unleashing a bit of malcontent upon the world made me smile.
    These were players, so they would resurrect eventually. They were also supposedly complete scum. Briefly, I paused. My own status was right in the mix with these people. That meant in the general public’s eyes I wouldn’t be much better.
    “Yes, I’m daft.” Why not? I wasn’t at work, there was no need to be the friendly but professional version of myself. These weren’t accountant customers or letter recipients. I didn’t care a ton about showing weakness in front of people who played games, no matter how real this world was.
    “Good. You look daft to me. I’m gonna call you Mister Daft forever.” he proudly declared. I couldn’t see what this guy looked like, but he sounded like a belligerent teenager. “That okay, Mister Daft?”
    “I thought we agreed the new guy would be Sharkbait.” another player said with a yawn in his voice. He sounded bored. This newest person was to the left. All around indications of autopilot symbols were dropping away.
    “You said that, but we already got Shankems over there. I don’t want another S name.” There was a rattle as the guy behind me moved around. His voice shifted to face us better.
    “Dude’s name is Hermes, get an ID skill, and maybe some brain cells, then you can stop opting out at the beginning of every stop,” a fourth person spoke. He sounded deep and easily annoyed. I assumed the easy to annoy part because that was the first thing he had said, and this fourth rumbling voice was borderline mad.
    “I ain’t playing this game to fight. I’m a loving sort,” the guy behind me insisted. He rattled something again.
    I jerked my hands trying to reproduce the noise. A few seconds later and there were a few possibilities. It was likely the man’s chains were being