“You put us both in a very bad situation back there,” Yongguk chides as you carry on walking for what feels like the hundredth mile you’ve travelled all day.

    “Me? How was I supposed to stop a snake?” you rebut.

    “Sure, the snake would have been a problem if it were real, but it wasn’t. The problem was that you believed you were poisoned, and that I was poisoned, and so we were both resultantly poisoned.”

    “How does that make any sense?”

    “Just don’t let your imagination get the best of you,” he warns, “Your deepest fears, your worst nightmares - they’re all just data to the system. Once it cracks your code, you’re at the system’s mercy.”

    The small town with the diner is far at your back, if it even exists at all anymore, and there is soft earth and grass beneath your feet once again. A large meadow surrounds you, lined in the distance on one side with a mixed wood of deciduous and coniferous trees, and on the other with a dense growth of bushes and ferns that reach eye level. The sky is a haze of purple and pink as the sun sinks below the clouds perched upon the horizon, casting shadowed blankets of its own hues over the white and yellow flowers of the meadow. About a half mile back, you had begun to hear the sound of running water, and you know this is what Yongguk is looking for.

    “Have there ever been other people here?” you change the subject, not wanting to dwell on how weak and useless Yongguk must think you are, and you’re not as surprised as you thought you would be when he nods.

    “His name was Himchan,” he begins, “He taught me most of what I know about this place, though the rest has come from experience filling in the blanks. I get the feeling he was here for a very long time, even longer than I have been now. He had a lot of hatred for this place. I mean, I do too, but there was just so much spite in everything that he did. It made him careless. I like to believe that he knew exactly what he was doing, though, because he was a clever man and enjoyed manipulating the system whenever he could. He had reached a lot of conclusions about it - how it tests you, how it breaks you down, how it would always have one more weapon up its sleeve.

    “He called it a chimera, the system’s ultimate weapon against you. Once it learns your fears, once it unlocks your deepest thoughts, it will create the penultimate thing or situation that is designed to defeat you - be it physically, mentally, or emotionally. And it will succeed. Sometimes I wonder if the system had already won against Himchan even before I showed up. He wasn’t crazy, but he wasn’t all there, either. There was always something about him that was more fragile than his boisterous attitude would ever allow me to believe.”

    The sky has darkened when you finally stumble upon the river, and Yongguk stops at its bank under a willow tree.

    “I think we should stay here tonight,” he says quietly, and you take it that he’s done talking about Himchan for now.

    Using some fallen branches, Yongguk constructs a pyramid shaped structure over some dried out meadow grass and uses a piece of bark hidden in the bushes to get a fire going. He finds one particularly long and straight branch and settles down beside the warmth of the flames, occasionally tossing pieces of its bark into the pile as he strips them off with a small Swiss Army knife produced from his pocket.

    “You can rest, I’ll keep watch,” he offers, just like the first time, and you wonder if he ever sleeps.

    Instead, you join him by the fire, listening to the crackling of the wood, the rushing water of the river, the singing crickets in the bushes, and the quiet carving of wood as Yongguk works away at the branch in his lap, smoothing its surface and sharpening one end. Deciding to keep your own hands busy, you gather a handful of long, dry meadow grass and begin weaving the wide strands together.

    “You always say that none of this is real.” You turn to him in the deepening darkness, giving him a hard look. The shadows cast by the fire dance across his features, exaggerating each dip and protrusion. You notice for the first time how defined his cheekbones are, and the way his square jaw rounds off towards his chin.

    “It’s not.”

    “Well then why are you so careful?” you ask in frustration, “If it’s as simple as not believing, why do you make such an effort to escape harm if you’re not really in danger at all?”

    When he doesn’t answer, your growing suspicions only become stronger.

    “I know pain is certainly real here,” you point out, “But that’s not the only thing, is it?”

    “You have to understand, every dangerous situation that the system throws at you really is a creation of your own mind,” he insists, “That’s what the danger is. Your fear is what makes the situation real to you. You saw what happened back there with the snake venom.”

    “So the danger really is there, if you can’t stop it,” you say quietly.

    He hesitates for a moment, then nods. The grave look in his eyes tells you that he knows all too well about how real the danger in this world can get. Now that you can finally see through his façade, you can see why he wanted to protect you. He truly wanted you to believe that none of this was real, because he himself had lost the ability to keep believing such comforting lies long ago.

    After a little while, the woven grass in your hands begins to take the shape of a bowl. You’re not sure why you’re making it, but it’s the only thing you learned how to weave back when you were going through a phase of learning crafts. Yongguk notices the creation, and his short-lived smile speaks approval for your talent.

    “So what happens if you die here?” you suddenly ask, wondering if you really want to know the answer, “I mean, this is a game, isn’t it? It’s not real, right?”

    He shrugs, his eyes distant. “I asked that when I first got here, too, but Himchan didn't have any answers. There was another player before me, another partner of his, but he didn’t like talking about him very much. I think it was hard for him. There was one night, though, when we both got really drunk off some whisky we found hidden away in some crates on an old freight train. He had had a lot more to drink than me, and he told me it should have been him that died; that he was a failure because he couldn’t save Jongup... He feared death when Jongup did not, and that was what made all the difference.” Yongguk is quiet for a moment as he thinks. “When Himchan died, he just...disappeared. I never saw him again, so I can’t really say what happened. But pain in this world is so real; everything is so real. I can’t help but think that death would be, too."

    “But there’s still the possibility, right?” you ask, and he understands what you are implying. “He might not be dead, you know. Maybe he got out. Maybe he’s free. Maybe he’s back with his family and he-“

    Your voice catches in your throat. You want to go on, hoping to be soothed by your own optimism, but the dismal look in his eyes stops you. You understand. He doesn’t want to think about family. He doesn’t want to think about the real world or the life he was forced to leave behind or all the things that could have been, and he certainly doesn’t want to allow himself to fall into the delusion that he could ever return.

    He remains quiet for a long time. “Maybe,” he finally speaks, “But it’s not something I’m willing to risk. I can’t afford any mistakes, and neither can you.”

    “You can still have hope,” you say.

    He laughs bitterly. “You know, I feel like this is how religion started out. People didn’t know what happened after death, so they envisioned some idealistic outcome that made death seem less scary,” he ponders, but his expression remains dark. “I was never the religious type.”

    You don’t push the matter, and instead return your attention to weaving your bowl.

    That night, you dream about life as it used to be. You dream about getting lunch with your best friend, laughing and catching up, and taking the bus home like a regular day. You dream about little details of life that you normally take for granted, like blowing on a spoonful of soup until it’s cool enough because ever since you burnt your tongue really bad that one time you don’t like hot liquids, or t a pulled thread off the bottom of that new shirt you bought to make sure it doesn’t catch on anything because Lord knows you payed too much for it but you liked it so much you bought it anyways. It’s your mind’s effort to reach out to the world you once knew.

    It only makes it harder to wake up to the swaying willow above your head, its branches and leaves hardly a silhouette against the sunrise. Your back is sore from sleeping on the ground all night and your left arm still feels strangely weak where you were bitten. Your heart sinks; this isn’t the world you wanted to wake up to. Finally allowing reality to hit you, it hits you hard, and the lump in your throat is much too large to swallow as a sob escapes your tired lungs. This was supposed to be the dream, and all you want is to wake up in your own bed to the sound of that goddamn alarm clock you used to hate. You can’t hate it anymore, not now that it exists only in your memory as the epitome of normalcy and routine. You miss routine.

    You wipe away your tears, knowing they aren’t going to do anything to help you get home. Yongguk, who had fallen asleep after all, lays on the opposite side of the pile of blackened wood and ashes; the fire went out a couple of hours ago, as did he. He shifts in his slumber, and you decide to go for a walk, not wanting to face him in your current state.

    Your stomach grumbles as you wander through the shrubbery next to the meadow, following paths of barren ground not overgrown by low-lying ferns. You didn’t eat dinner last night, you realize. But at the next clearing, you stumble upon a field of familiar looking bushes, and your eyes practically sparkle when you catch sight of the little berries growing around you. Maybe it was just coincidence, or maybe you do have influence on this place after all. You reach out to pluck one off its stem, but then hesitate, perhaps finally taking heed of Yongguk’s constant wariness. Following the paved road felt like a trap, and now this does as well. You settle upon grabbing a few berries and taking them with you.

    When you make it back to the river a short while later, Yongguk has awoken.

    “Are these safe?” you ask him upon returning, just to make sure, and Yongguk nods.

    “Wild raspberries, good eye,” he says, and you quickly snatch up the bowl you had woven, glad to find a use for it. You skip back to the field excitedly, hoping is hasn’t disappeared.

    Grinning at the field of bushes, your stomach grumbles once again, but this time in anticipation of its yummy breakfast. Immediately you get to work on picking the berries, stowing them away in your woven bowl.

    You have already cleaned off a few bushes by the time the feeling of being watched finally strikes you. As you move to the next plant, you realize that it isn’t a raspberry bush at all - rather, small clusters of cherry tomatoes grow upon its boughs. You happen to glance up and gasp, forgetting the task at hand as you meet eyes with a boy that is watching you from across the field. His skin is a smooth, milky white complexion and his eyes are almost as wide and filled with shock as yours. He has one hand gripped tightly to a satchel that hangs from his shoulder. As if knowing that he has been spotted, the boy quickly slips away, and you are left wondering if you had really seen him at all.

    You quickly make your way back to the camp Yongguk had set up, frantically wanting to share what you’ve seen.

    “Yongguk, you won't believe it!” you shout despite being short of breath, “There was a boy, a human boy! Another person is here!”

    Yongguk frowns from the water’s edge, spear that he carved last night in hand and eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “That’s impossible. You’ve hardly been here for any time, it’s way too soon for a new player unless the system’s already gotten bored of you. And, I’m not sure how else to put this, but you’re far from fearless.”

    You shake your head defiantly. “No, I’m sure of what I saw. He was really tall, about your height actually, but he looked young. I think he was scared when I looked at him, because he ran away. He must be wondering what’s going on.”

    “Look, I don’t know who you think you saw, but it was probably just another sprite,” he insists, “Don’t get too caught up over it.”

    “But I’m sure I saw him!” you plead, “We have to help him, just like you helped me! Honestly, I don’t know what I would have done if I was alone...”

    His eyes soften slightly, and he sighs. “We’ll keep an eye out for this kid, okay? But really, don’t think too much about it,” he replies, “When I came looking for you that first day that you woke up here, it was because I could feel that something had changed in the system. I don’t know how to explain it, but it was just this gut feeling. I knew something was different, and when I started walking wherever that intuition led me, somehow I ended up finding you.”

    You hold his gaze for a moment, but for once he is the first to look away.

    “If we find him, we’ll help him, but I just didn’t get that feeling this time,” he says.

    You place your bowl of berries down on the ground halfheartedly, deciding there is enough for the two of you. Yongguk wades back into the river, his pants rolled up to his knees, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a determined look on his face as he attempts to spear a fish.

    The morning progresses like this, with you watching him fish and occasionally nibbling on some berries, but for the most part waiting for Yongguk so that you can eat together. After each failed strike, however, Yongguk rotates his injured right shoulder in frustration. If his dominant arm hadn’t been wounded, he probably would have caught multiple fish by now. You get the fire going again anyways, and by midmorning he’s caught a small trout.

    “This will have to do,” he resigns from the river to rejoin you and his dry shoes by the fire, finding a flat stone upon which he makes quick work of the fish with his knife. With the meat that remains upon it, he decides to place the whole rock into the fire to let it cook. The entrails and other miscellaneous bits he disposes of in the river so as to not attract animals. 

    “This kind of survival I can do,” he says as he relaxes against the willow’s trunk, eating some of your berries, “We don’t make too bad of a team, you and I.”

    “Can we stay here for a while?” you ask hopefully, “I like it here.”

    He looks at you contemplatively, a look in his eyes that you can’t quite identify, and then nods. “Sure, if you want. I’m player two now, after all. You call the shots.”

    When the fish is done cooking, you and Yongguk each stab the pieces of fleshy white meat with thin sticks and pull them out of the flames.

    “Look, it’s a fish kebab,” you grin as you add a raspberry onto the end of your stick, and Yongguk laughs lightly, more so at you than at your culinary creation.

    You eat in silence once again, as has become the norm between the two of you. The fish tastes delightfully fresh, and you’re glad to have something warm in your stomach.

    “Drink what’s left,” Yongguk hands you a flask, “We can boil more from the river once that’s done.”

    The cool water that splashes against your dry lips awakens a severe thirst that you hadn’t noticed, and what feels like only a few gulps later the flask is disappointingly empty. You go and refill it from the river before placing it on your makeshift stone stovetop with the cap still off. You’ve barely sat back down when Yongguk speaks up once again.

    “I heard you crying this morning. Are you okay?”

    You bite your lip, keeping your hard gaze fixed upon the wispy flames that tickle the sides of the metal canister, casting brilliant orange reflections against its shined and stainless surface.

    “I’m fine.”

    The conversation ends there, for which you are thankful. Brunch is followed by a nap under the shade of the willow tree, and before slipping beneath the veil of unconsciousness you mentally agree with what Yongguk had said: this kind of survival, you could certainly do.

____
>necrophobia [ˌnekrəˈfōbēə] the fear of death