[ WP ] You discover you 're just an NPC in a game with extremely advanced AI . You encounter the main character .

As usual, I was stuck on the graveyard shift. I'd never forgive Bob, my manager, for putting me on the two til six shift on a Saturday night, but I suppose if he had n't I never would have seen her. 
 
 She pushed open the door to *The Queen's Arms* easily, which was the first thing that struck me about her. It was a heavy door, made from oak back when the old inn had first been built in the time of the Virgin Queen, and she did n't look particularly strong. I only grew more impressed when I saw how much she was carrying - a backpack straining to split apart, and pockets filled with what looked like cheese. Her clothes seemed odd, too. Not individually, mind, but as an outfit. She was wearing hiking boots, which seemed fair enough, but did n't seem to fit with the skinny ripped jeans she was wearing. Her top was even more bizarre, with a faded *Black Sabbath* shirt barely visible under a blue trenchcoat. Her eyes were covered with mirrored aviators, particularly unusual given the time of day, and her hair was tied up in a bandana. Like I said, it was odd. 
 
 Still, years in retail had conditioned me well. I did n't even hesitate before plastering an incredibly fake smile on my face and, in an equally fake voice, greeting her. 
 
 `` Hello! Welcome to *The Queen's Arms*! How can I help you today?'' 
 
 At this point the woman frowned at me, scrunching her face up and she locked eyes with mine. She held my gaze for a good minute; her frowning in concentration at me while I held the retail smile in place. Eventually, she spoke. 
 
 `` Have you heard any rumours lately?'' 
 
 An odd question, but I did enjoy a bit of gossip. `` I hear Jarl Harald is looking for someone to do some work for him.'' Harald was the manager of the local Ikea. He ruled it with an iron fist, and was a genuine Swedish immigrant besides. Hence the nickname. 
 
 Again this woman gave me the stare, though, and once again I gave her the retail smile in return. A minute more passed before she spoke again. 
 
 `` I'd like to rent a room for the night.'' 
 
 I nodded. That was, after all, what inns were for. I stepped out from behind the counter as she paid the £35 fee, strangely all in pound coins, and proceeded to show her to the only room we had spare that night. 
 When I finished my shift the next morning she was gone, along with all our bathroom soaps and towels.
