“You’re late,” Scales’ distinctly high-pitched voice echoed from the speakers in the dorm room. “My game system showed up five minutes ago, and I can't wait to get in.”
Charles smiled. Scales was as devoted to video games as he was. He was a freak about weaponry and was as obsessed with firepower as Charles was with strategy and gameplay. They’d bonded as soon as they’d met at the start of the program, which would reassure Charles’ mom who desperately wanted him to find a friend. Sure, they didn’t socialize much outside video games and Charles knew little of his family or background, but he didn’t care. What else was there to know? Scales had the muscle, at least in video game format, and Charles had the brains. They were the perfect gaming team.
"Why haven't you tried it yet?" Charles asked, as he put away the chips and drinks.
His room was small, about the size of a small closer, and it barely fit a bed and a desk, but it still had space for a small mini-fridge where he could keep drinks cold. With the plaid comforter and messy pile of textbooks, it looked like your typical college dorm room. The one thing that set it apart was the large screen on the wall. That was the second defining feature of the Cinco dorm rooms--they were completely interactive. Charles could attend lectures, submit assignments and watch movies from the giant screen.
And he could also try out his new toy.
"I'm trying," Scales moaned. "But that talk on video games story design went into overtime. The Cinco Gaming guy kept going on and on about how much research goes into their storylines, and how realistic they try to be, and how they bring experts in to help out, and blah, blah, blah. It started out interesting, but then turned into a two-hour-long Cinco ad. I guess that’s the price we pay for being in this program.” He sighed into his headpiece, the sound echoing through the room. “Anyway, I’m still slogging through the legal disclaimers. Isn't it enough that I had to take a physical to qualify for this project? I also need to drown in legalese? Don’t they know who my dad—“
An awkward silence fell.
“Speaking of dads,” Scales said. "Um, condolences and all that stuff, dude. I know the anniversary is hard."
Charles instantly regretted sharing too much personal info in the group chats. He’d been explaining why his game was off last year. Scales had commiserated and revealed he’d lost his mom when he was young. Charles supposed it was the kind of sweet bonding moment you were supposed to have with friends, but he still regretted. It was probably no big deal, but his father’s arrest and subsequent disappearance had made national news. There was always a chance that someone could use the info to dox him. He trusted Scales, but one couldn’t be too careful these days.
Being Gabriel Alejandro Pakito’s son in real life was bad enough. He didn’t need that kind of stigma in his online existence, and he particularly didn’t need it in the Cinco Gaming community. If it got out that the son of one of the company’s most notorious saboteurs was attending a middle school summer program sponsored by Matthew Cinco things could get ugly.
"Not a problem," Charles replied, as uncomfortable with the emotional turn of the conversation as his friend. "I'm going to stay busy today."
"Good," Scales replied, sounding relieved. “Pretty nice of Grace to arrange for this. It gives you a distraction at least.”
“It was,” Charles admitted. “How in the world did she manage it?”
“Well, her dad did, but she was the one who came up with the idea and pushed for it to be part of the middle school program.”
“Must be nice,” Charles replied, trying to imagine being able to get your parents to bring cutting-edge virtual reality technology to your summer camp.
He failed. He was definitely not in that category. He had a feeling Scales was, though. His friend had the self-assurance for a rich kid and the program staff seemed to treat him with kid gloves.
And he’d gotten the code. That took clout.
“Time’s running out.,” Charles said, turning toward far more important matters. “I’m going to start setting up.”
"Awesome,” Scales blurted, eager to skirt the topic. “I’m so excited to finally play Primemonger. The character design looked fantastic in the leaked videos, and that Megatech emerald axe is sweet. I wonder if the code gets us something even better.“
Charles laughed, happy to be talking about the game again. "Oh, please. He's just a Tarzan rip-off with a big stick."
"Shut your mouth," Scales said. “He’s much cooler than Tarzan. He's a Black Panther rip-off with a high-tech treehouse in the jungle and dinosaur pets. This dude is T'Challa with dinosaurs.”
“It’s a glorified Jungle Hunt,” Charles taunted, mentioning the 80s game Scales adored.
His friend was a true video game history nerd. His apparently wealthy parents had financed a huge collection of retro game hardware, and he spent most of his free time in obscure web forums discussing bygone games. Talk about useless knowledge.
“That is more accurate than you realize,” Scales said in his most pedantic tone. “Jungle Hunt included pioneering parallax scrolling techniques that gave the 2-D game a sensation of depth and realism, just like Legends of the Universe is breaking new ground in virtual reality with its new hardware.”
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Charles groaned. Scales always had some arcane little bit of video game trivia he could pull out of a hat to score a point.
But Charles was ready to counter Scales’ trivia. “It’s Tomb Raider with dinosaurs.”
His comment was greeted by offended silence.
“Ouch,” Scales said. “That hurts, man. The only good thing about that game is the soundtrack and Lara Croft’s English accent. I have a copy of Angel of Darkness and it’s unplayable. Primemonger may not have a cool lizard accent, but he is the bomb, and is much cooler than that crap cowboy you like."
"Hey, at least I can aim,” Charles replied, laughing.
A love of vintage Western movies was the one good thing his dad had left him. Ranger, the sharpshooting sniper class Legends character suited him perfectly. Scales, however, disagreed.
"Who needs to aim when they can crush?" Scales replied. “Your Clint Eastwood clone is so fragile, he can’t even take a fall.”
That was Scales in a nutshell. He didn't care about strategies or skill, all he wanted was big weapons and big explosions. This game would hopefully deliver both.
“You don’t need a lot of HP if you don’t rush headlong into trouble,” Charles said.
Scales laughed. “Trouble is what makes life interesting. And dude had healing ability which comes in handy.”
Charles rolled his eyes. The one drawback to playing with Scales is that he was an adrenaline junkie who leaped head-first into any adventure and usually got killed early as a result. That kind of impulsivity didn’t win you games.
“PrimeMonger has minor healing ability,” he countered. “That’s barely better than your average healing tonic. Ranger has a cyborg arm with built-in blasters and multiple rounds. Now that’s impressive.”
“Please,” Scales scoffed. “PrimeMonger has two sets of cyborg claws that can slice through anything. Both hands. That’s exactly 100% percent better.”
Charles laughed, giving up. He wasn’t going to convince his friend.
"Well, I better go meet my crap cowboy," he said. “At least some of us appreciate the classics.”
"And I'll keep signing releases. Good thing, I’m a minor and don’t actually have the capacity to sign my life, what there’s left of it anyway, away. Good luck, see you in the game.”
The dorm speakers went silent and he was left staring at the white box.
There were no distinguishing features—no labels or signs. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought its contents were completely uninteresting. It didn't even have instructions.
He opened the box--
And stared at a block of styrofoam, or at least something that looked like styrofoam. A disappointed sigh escaped him. Gee, they'd packed this up tight, hadn't they?
He fought to get the protective layers out. There was a lot of environmentally-conscious plastic substitute here. He finally peeled the foamy exoskeleton out and unwrapped the contents of the box.
It was a helmet—a shiny metal helmet with a visor and ear flaps. The contraption was surprisingly light—it felt more like rubber than metal—and he fought the temptation to throw it at a wall and see if it bounced.
Grace wouldn't like that. Her dad worked for Cinco Gaming, and he’d been the one who’d arranged for the G&T program to test the system. She'd been ridiculously proud of the web-like design when she'd shown it off yesterday in the cafeteria, touting its light weight and comfortable fit.
"You won't even know it's there," she'd said, her hazel eyes shining with excitement. "And you'll feel like you're really in the game."
That had seemed an unlikely proposition at the time, but it was a lot more plausible now.
He reached into the box and extracted the gloves. They had a similar web-like design, like something Spider-Man would wear. Presumably, there was a controller in there somewhere, but it was difficult to tell. They just looked like very sophisticated mesh gloves.
He pulled the gloves on. He flexed his fingers. The gloves felt normal, like regular gloves, except more expensive. They were soft and he feared they would slide right off the helmet when he reached for it, but they didn't. The grip was true. His excitement level rose. The gloves made him feel like a superhero
He examined the interior of the helmet--glossy gray mesh, smooth visor, no visible electronics.
Very nice. The only operating part seemed to be a small button on the side. He pushed it very gently.
And jumped as the screen on the wall flashed to life, almost making him drop the helmet. He clutched the equipment, feeling his heart beating frantically in his chest. The words "I'm in, dude!!!!!!" scrolled across the wall.
Apparently, Scales—the ultimate exclamation point addict—had finished the legal stuff.
"Last one in is a rotten egg!!!!" the screen screamed.
Charles smiled. His friend's enthusiasm was contagious.
He pressed the small button on the side of the helmet again. For a second, nothing happened, then the screen in his room went dark.
An upbeat melody rang out from the speakers. A sea of stars appeared on the screen, followed by bright white letters.
"Welcome to the Legends of the Universe," they spelled.
"Hello," a melodious voice rang out from the speakers. "Welcome to the Cinco Gaming’s Legends of the Universe, a groundbreaking experience in gaming."
Charles smiled. They thought highly of themselves didn't they? Guess you had to, if you named your gaming world Legends of the Universe. Now that was raising the bar.
"You may now put on your helmet," the voice continued.
Charles raised the helmet. Wait—there was something he had to do first.
“Code 556212014-dot-EXE.”
His words were greeted by silence. For a moment he’d wondered if he’d gotten the numbers wrong, and wasn’t EXE a file tag? There was always the possibility that Scales had gotten it wrong—
A long beep echoed through the room. “Code activated,” the voice declared. “Thank you.”
“No,” Charles said, laughing at the system’s polite tone. “Thank you.”
It was now or never. Wow, his hands were actually shaking. How ridiculous. He’d played tons of video games in his life—far too many, probably. This was just one more.
Okay, it was very high-tech and the helmet in his hand was probably worth more than his entire family—heck maybe his entire neighborhood—but no big deal, right? It was just a game.
He slowly placed the helmet on his head and everything went dark. Grace had been right, you could barely feel it there. What was this thing made of—cobwebs and fairy dust? The tech was amazingly—
Glowing letter appeared in front of him.
In memoriam: Jacinta Elena “Jace” Cinco (1970-2014).
Charles sighed, tapping his gloved fingers impatiently as he waited for the letters to fade. Matthew Cinco started every single game with a tribute to his dead wife. It was sweet, but it lasted way too long.
He froze. He couldn’t see anything, but he could hear Scales' faint voice coming over the helmet's interior speakers. His friend sounded confused, and Charles had a hard time distinguishing the words.
But it sounded like Scales was saying "something's wrong."