The wind on the cliff edge smelled like ozone and burning rubber.
I stood there, sipping my infinite lukewarm coffee, staring at what used to be Manhattan. It looked like someone had taken the city, put it in a blender, and then poured it back out without checking if the pieces fit.
The Chrysler Building was floating upside down. Central Park was now a jungle of purple, glowing trees. And the Hudson River? It was lava. Literal, flowing lava.
"This map design is terrible," I muttered, my hands still shaking from the caffeine. "Zero consistency."
"We need to get down," Miller said, pointing to a narrow, crumbling bridge that connected our cliff to the city ruins below. "My System map says there's a Safe Zone in Times Square."
"Times Square?" Dave squeaked. "That's where all the tourists go. It's going to be crowded."
"It's a Safe Zone, Dave," Sarah said, tightening her grip on her oversized staff. "It means no monsters."
We began the descent. The bridge was treacherous—chunks of asphalt floating in mid-air, held together by blue gravity beams. I kept my eyes on my feet, trying not to look at the lava river a thousand feet below.
As we walked, my System kept pinging me with updates.
[DISCOVERED LOCATION: THE SHATTERED BURROUGHS] [XP GAINED: +5]
[WARNING: SERVER STABILITY AT 64%. EXPECT LAG SPIKES.]
"Lag spikes?" I whispered. "Great. Just what I needed. Rubber-banding off a cliff."
We reached the street level after an hour. The city was quiet. Too quiet. Cars were crushed flat like soda cans. Shop windows were shattered.
But up ahead, in the center of a massive intersection, we saw lights.
floodlights.
Barricades made of overturned buses and concrete slabs formed a perimeter around a few city blocks. Men and women in mismatched armor—some wearing riot gear, others wearing fantasy leather—were patrolling the walls.
A giant holographic sign floated above the gate:
[TIMES SQUARE SAFE ZONE] [OWNER: THE IRON VANGUARD GUILD] [ENTRY FEE: 10 GOLD OR 1 RARE ITEM]
"Ten gold?" Dave gasped, clutching his pouch. "That's robbery! I only have seventy-five!"
"We pay it," Miller said grimly. "We need rest. And food."
We approached the bus barricade. Two guards stepped out. They looked strong. One was holding a glowing spear; the other had a massive two-handed hammer resting on his shoulder.
"Halt," the Hammer Guy grunted. He looked like he ate protein powder dry. "Newbs from the tutorial?"
"We just cleared the Goblin Caves," Miller said, stepping forward with his shield. "We want entry."
Hammer Guy sneered. "Goblin Caves? That's a Level 1 zone. We're already clearing Level 5 dungeons. But gold is gold."
He held out a hand. Miller, Sarah, and Dave reluctantly paid up.
Then, the guard turned to me.
"You," he said, looking at my hoodie and jeans. "Where's your gear? You look like a civilian."
"I'm a... Caster," I lied. "I don't need armor."
"Is that so?" The guard narrowed his eyes. "Let's check the stats."
He raised his hand. A blue ring of light appeared around his eye.
[SKILL DETECTED: INSPECT (LVL 3)] [EFFECT: REVEALS TARGET'S CLASS, LEVEL, AND HP.]
My heart stopped.
If he saw [Class: Reality Debugger], I was dead. Or worse, kidnapped and forced to farm exploits for this "Iron Vanguard" guild.
If he saw [HP: 10], he'd laugh and kick me out for being too weak.
[SYSTEM ALERT: EXTERNAL SCAN DETECTED.] [FIREWALL STATUS: ONLINE.]
Firewall?
A new window popped up on my console. It showed the incoming scan request from the guard as a packet of data.
> INCOMING REQUEST: GET_USER_DATA (JAX) > DATA REQUESTED: CLASS, LEVEL, HP
I had a split second before the data was sent back to him.
I couldn't block it—that would be suspicious. But maybe I could... edit the reply.
My mind raced. I focused on the outgoing data packet. It was just text. To the System, my class was just a string of characters.
> [EDIT STRING: CLASS] > CURRENT VALUE: "Reality Debugger" > NEW VALUE: "Arcane Scholar"
> [EDIT INTEGER: LEVEL] > CURRENT VALUE: 1 > NEW VALUE: 4
I mentally slammed the [ENTER] key.
The guard blinked. He stared at the air above my head, reading a menu only he could see.
"Arcane Scholar, huh?" he grunted, unimpressed. "Level 4. Rare class. Sounds like a nerd class. Probably just identifies items."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Yeah. I just read books and stuff."
"And your HP is garbage," he laughed. "One stiff breeze and you're dead. Stay in the back of the party, squishy."
He lowered his hand. "Alright. ten gold."
I didn't have gold. I hadn't killed anything.
"Uh," I patted my pockets. "I... I didn't get any gold drops. The boss glitched."
The guard's face hardened. He gripped his hammer. "No gold, no entry. Beat it, trash."
Miller started to reach for his pouch. "I can cover him—"
"No charity!" the guard snapped. "Guild rules. Everyone pays their own way."
I felt the panic rising again. I looked at the guard. Then I looked at his hammer.
[OBJECT: STEEL_WARHAMMER_UNCOMMON] [DURABILITY: 45/100] [MATERIAL: IRON, WOOD] [TEXTURE: RUSTY_METAL_02]
I couldn't fight him. But I was an Admin. I could mess with his settings.
I focused on the hammer's visual data. Specifically, the color values.
> [SELECT TARGET: WARHAMMER_TEXTURE] > [APPLY FILTER: RGB_CYCLE] > [SPEED: 500%]
"Wait," I said, holding up a hand. "I don't have gold. But I can... enchant gear."
The guard raised an eyebrow. "Enchant? You're Level 4."
"It's a visual enchantment," I said quickly. "A cosmetic skin. Very rare. Look at your hammer."
The guard looked down.
Suddenly, his rusty, boring hammer started flashing. It cycled through the colors of the rainbow like a cheap gaming keyboard. Red, green, blue, purple, gold. It pulsed with a seizure-inducing disco light.
"Whoa," the guard whispered. "It's... it's RGB."
"It makes you swing faster," I lied. (It definitely did not). "Top tier gamers use RGB."
The guard swung the hammer. The rainbow trail it left in the air was obnoxious and bright. He grinned like a kid on Christmas.
"That's sick," he muttered. "The Guild Leader has a flaming sword, but this... this is flashy."
He looked back at me, his attitude completely changed. "Alright, RGB Wizard. You're in. But if the colors stop, I'm coming to find you."
"They have a lifetime warranty," I promised.
He stepped aside. The bus barricade groaned as it slid open.
We walked into the Safe Zone. It was a refugee camp mixed with a medieval market. People were selling grilled rat meat on sticks, trading potions, and sleeping in tents made of old billboards.
"You really have a cosmetic skill?" Miller asked me in a low voice as we walked past a guy sharpening a sword on a piece of sidewalk.
"Something like that," I muttered, cancelling the RGB effect on my own vision so I wouldn't get a headache.
We found a spot near an old hot dog stand to sit down. I slumped against the concrete, exhausted.
I had faked my way past the firewall. I had re-skinned a weapon.
I pulled out my #1 DEV mug and took a sip.
My System console flickered in the corner of my eye. A new notification appeared. It wasn't a game message. It was a chat message.
[SYSTEM ALERT: DIRECT MESSAGE RECEIVED.] [SENDER: ADMIN_02]
I choked on my coffee.
[ADMIN_02]: "Who is this? Why did you just modify a texture file in Sector 7 without logging a ticket?"
I stared at the text.
There were others. And they had caught me.