Rimelion: The Exploiter

Riker, as if commenting on the weather, asked, "What do you know about Nathan?"

"Nathan?" I blurted, my voice a mix of surprise and confusion. I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. "Isn't he the creator of Rimelion?"

As if on cue, the guards left the room, leaving us with Riker alone.

He trusts us that much?

Riker nodded, a faint sneer curling his lips. "Yes, that might be the narrative the masses accept. Yet I believe you are capable of deducing far more, Miss Charlie." He took a measured sip of his drink.

I shifted uncomfortably, but continued anyway. "He's the leader of the Ring of Smiling People," I said, watching his reaction. Riker nodded again, that ever-present smile urging me to continue. "And he plans to work closely with the government to replace all workers with robots. I told you that already."

"Oh, splendid deduction! That is indeed his aim," Riker said. "But I must correct you on two points—Nathan isn't working with the government, and he didn't create Rimelion. It has simply always existed," he added, his smile widening as though he'd just shared the secret to make triple oak signature reserve whiskey.

I blinked at him, my brain scrambling to make sense of the words. "What?" was all I said, the syllable tumbling out flatly.

Riker rose from his seat with a graceful flourish, his multicolored coat blinding me again, as he crossed the room to the massive window. The city stretched out beyond the glass, and his gaze drifted over the skyline, his expression contemplative.

"The prevailing belief," he began, his tone now soft and measured, "is that Rimelion has always existed—a world as immutable as our own." He gestured toward the glittering view with his glass. "A place outside the confines of time, always existing, with all the rules that simply exist."

"Nonsense..." I protested. "That's a game we talk about! It's fake! Fake like real, but fake none the less. Not this Gaia nonsence again..."

He turned to us, a sly smile tugging at his lips. "Your friend Pearl," he continued, "has unearthed a rather provocative notion: that our reality is but a simulation. Such a clever girl, isn't she?" His admiration was almost genuine, but it sounded like a parent proud of their children walking. "She's eluded even us, a feat few can claim."

I stiffened at the mention of Pearl. "And yet, this theory," Riker continued, his tone pivoting back to its calculated precision, "is embraced by Nathan. Or... is it Jeffrey? Yes, your enigmatic patron. How fascinating that such divergent minds converge on the same question."

The name Jeffrey made me pause. My head was a mess and so many things happened in the past days—what about my time travel? "I don't have a patron," I said, my tone sharp. "Nobody's holding my hand. I have to do everything myself. Thank you very much."

Riker turned back to me, laughing. "You do have help," he said. "But what I'm referring to is Jeffrey. For some reason, he chose you as his champion. To retrieve a seed for him."

With a flourish, Riker snapped his fingers, and a holo-screen appeared mid-air. The image on it was painfully familiar: Jeffrey talking with Lucas.

The young punk.

The one who sent me back.

I turned to Lucas, my lovely, stupid, damn mage. "What? Lucas? Who's that?!" I demanded.

"Charlie..." Lucas began hesitantly, his tone a mix of guilt and nervousness. "One leader of the Ring of Smiling People? I don't know. He contacted me to... show his support, kind of. But not to tell you, though."