Rimelion: The Exploiter

Gripping my head, I took a long, calming breath. Just because I'd time-traveled, simulation-swapped, or whatever this was, didn't mean I was in any better position than yesterday.

If all those sci-fi time-travel movies taught me anything, it's that I needed a plan—and it usually involved making money. Or maybe breaking down the AI machines. No, scratch that. If the "simulation within a simulation" thing was real, that was a terrible plan.

Alright, so the goal was simple: make money. With enough of it, maybe I could create jobs and change the future, solve this whole mess of AI stealing jobs. Or something like that. But how to make a fortune?

The only thing I remembered about future markets was the big cryptocurrency surge in a couple of years. But was it two years? I hadn't paid attention. Stock market? Didn't care. Wheat or oil prices? Nope. Super Bowl? Not interested. Any other sport? The only thing I cared about was Rimelion PvP—that was my real passion.

Wait. Rimelion!

I could make a ton of money playing the game! Finally, I'd be able to stomp on "normal" players instead of just other testers!

Excited, I jumped into my old capsule, labeled in big red letters: FOR TESTING PURPOSES ONLY. It was bed-sized, with a sleek, metallic silver finish. I settled in, let the system scan my retina, and a second later, I was logged into my Rimelion account.

[Welcome back, John.]

"New account, random name. I don't care."

[Error, you cannot create a character. You are part of the development team.]

Oh, no! How could I forget? The time-travel mumble-duple-jumbo didn't change the fact that I couldn't play. An annoying foul mood washed over me, seeping into my bones like some cursed elven ice cream. History was repeating itself, because I'd faced this same frustration back then. Today was that day, wasn't it? The launch of Rimelion.

I gave my head a little knock, trying to jolt my memory.

How did it go? Lucas had promised he could get me into the game, but I'd turned him down. I rubbed my temples, straining to recall the reason. How could I remember every detail after all these years? Well, no need to struggle—one phone call could clear this up.

"Hey, John! What's up?"

Lucas was still alive! My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing like an imperial war drum. "Lucas, can you get me into Rimelion?" I asked, my voice trembling with excitement. Adrenaline surged through me, making my fingers tingle. If I could get into the game...maybe I could even meet a whiskey-loving girlfriend. Wait, no! I shook my head to clear my thoughts. I was doing this for the money to save the world.

"John, I told you to come here!" Lucas's irritation seeped through the line. "Not over the phone; meet me at my place in three hours." The line went dead, and I felt a flicker of frustration. How was I supposed to know I'd asked him the same question 20 years ago?

Alright, one more thing to handle before I strike it rich. With renewed determination, I logged into my corporate account.

[You are about to end your contract, are you sure?]

"Yes." My finger hovered over the button, and a pang of fear hit me. This company had been like family, and if I did this, there'd be no more coffee breaks with Lucy in the storage room. With a deep breath and eyes shut, I confirmed my decision.