1 1. Nathan

Nathan expected stepping into Bilgewater to feel natural, to arrive in the virtual home he had been searching for since he first installed League of Legends years ago.

But it wasn't. It didn't.

As the convention centre dissipated from his eyes and he and ninety-nine others settled into their VR pods, Nathan lunged forward only to tilt out of a bench.

"Woah, there," said a man to right, holding Nathan chest to keep him off the ground, "Anchor yourself a while longer, lad. This won't take long, will it, cap'n?"

Pushing himself back onto the bench, Nathan muttered thanks and looked around. The system had placed him in a long corridor, ending in a round, shuttered window which allowed Nathan to make out his company through a dusty light.

A hard, powdered laugh came from the other side of the bench. Nathan turned and instantly regretted it as the stench of sea-worn cloth and fish bits sailed towards his nose. As he covered his nose, this 'cap'n' wagged a seaweed-green bottle and let loose a smile of barnacled molars -and little else.

"Not to worry, lad. Here, take it," he said, handing over the bottle, "This is just a routine scrubdown for those new to port."

The captain's voice was far smoother and lacking in grit. It caught Nathan off-guard, causing him to doubt which of the sailors, on either side, he could trust. But the 'captain's well-spokenness and the fact that he had genuinely offered him water made him reconsider the initial impression he had, almost enough to cause him to forgot where he was, or why he was there I the first place.

"Nephew," said the captain as Nathan accepted the water, "I know this journey has been long. But we are one skirmish short of victory!" The captain paused as he noticed Nathan had not drank anything, even in the humidity.

Nephew? Where the hell did they spawn me in on this Battle Royale? He quickly forced down a gulp of the possibly potable, room temperature water and looked away to distract himself from the gaze of his 'uncle'. They sat at the end of a talc white corridor lasted, separated by doors made of jungle wood. Lit by the only window he could see, the door next to them was made of uneven boards of jungle wood, reaching a few feet higher than Nathan was used to, the corners topped off by busts of snakeheads. Their beady, gold eyes refracted the dim light that came from the nearby window to show the inscription;

Customs.

Office of Sarpa Anda

"This doesn't seem very…Bilgewater-y," Nathan wondered aloud, "It's too dry. Too clean."

"Aye," agreed the sailor sitting by his right, clasping his hands in prayer. "The cult of the Bearded Lady soogeed the port all too well." He made to rise from the bench, slowly deferring to his captain. "I say we cut and run to another of the islands, square away with a gang on a nice shady cove."

The sailor gave the door a sidelong gaze. "Pirates, we know how to deal with; gold. But who knows what the cult will make of us outsiders?"

The captain silenced the sailor with a laugh. "Bearded Lady; Pirate kings; Demacian nobles; it's all the same," he said, "Power begets authority begets wealth." He turned to the customs office with scorn, and in this moment of captured silence heard a spat -between a man and a woman- emanating from inside.

"Hear that?" The captain spread his grin again, showing greying gums like banks of silt, worn down by the rolling of his tongue. "The same power, with all the trappings of it." He waved out a peculiar fruit from seemingly nowhere, taking a sniff. "And I know how to make our islander friends fall right into them. So sit!"

The sailor flicked his eyes, hunched over, bound to the seat only by the tip of his fingers. Nathan caught his gaze. Well, there's no good footage here except for a dusty corridor. Can't believe this, but I'm going with the sweaty guy, maybe have some actual fun in this game. Keeling forward, he began to rise defiantly with the sailor when the captain swiped back the bottle he had given Nathan and held them both down with a glare.

"You want to go? Go." He directed it at the sailor, but Nathan swallowed. Any pity his familial connection afforded him was gone.

Yet the sailor stepped away.

"But who'll have you?" asked the captain.

The sailor stood transfixed with the red planks. Even in the dim light, he burned with sweat.

"Once word slips about what we did, who'll be the likely suspect?" the captain asked.

The captain laughed again, shoving Nathan until he chuckled alongside him. Am I in a Battle Royale, or some masochistic visual novel? I'd love some HUD elements before I go insane.

"And," continued the captain, his sailor still trapped by both shock and indecision, "If you rat it won't just be Demacia, or the countless hunters out for a quick kraken looking for you, it'll be me, too."

Shrinking in his seat, Nathan was joined then by the sailor, in the same position. This is a game. A game, he kept telling himself, there's got to be a play. He glanced around again, being drawn to the window shuttered with a coiled rope -much like a snake- glowing golden from the light it could not keep out. It sang for him to rip it open and find the experience he had come here for. Nathan's head flooded with all the things he was missing out on filming by staying with this awkward group. But his uncle kept eyeing him, with more suspicion each time, and Nathan had no idea what would happen if the captain figured out that his nephew was not here. That he, and all of his world don't actually exist outside the framework of the Bilgewater Battle Royale.

"As for you, boy," the captain began, fumbling beneath the folds of his cloak, "I need you to hold on to something." The tattered, oil-black garment waved in response to the captain's movements as if it concealed nothing.

This is it! A sword -dagger -a knife! Whatever, let's go!

Wordlessly, the captain placed a small grey plate on the bench and slid it towards Nathan. Noticing the weird curvature and the strap on the underside, Nathan whispered, "It's a shield." A tiny fucking buckler! Is this game serious?

"Hide it well," his uncle told him, pointing, "Pretend to be a hunchback, the shape will is less likely noticed that way, and it'll give you reason to keep it steady if need be."

Staring at the buckler's plain design and lack of any magical, tech, or hextech ability, Nathan's disappointment was clearly demonstrated on his face. This is useless! He was about to hand it back and leave the scene entirely when the sailor nudged him, bringing echoes of the captain's harsh words that painted an obvious picture of what would happen if he did.

"It's just so…boring," Nathan muttered.