I unfolded the worn yellow flier and checked it against the address in front of me. Sure enough, all signs pointed to me being in the right place, though I had expected something more impressive than the squat, two story office building before me. I had imagined that the headquarters of the world’s most well-known gaming company would be a multi-story building, if not a full skyscraper. But then, what did I know? I wasn’t in game development.

I glanced around nervously, but there was nobody around to see me loitering. Not that it would have mattered even if someone did see, because it wasn’t like I was doing anything wrong anyway. I shook my head to try and dispel the anxiety. Stalling wasn’t going to make this any easier.

I entered the building and made a beeline for the receptionist’s desk.

“Good morning, how can I help you?” the young man asked. His brown eyes met mine and for a moment I forgot the entire reason I was there. I had always thought that brown eyes were flat, boring, and for an eye color to be beautiful it had to be light and varied. That was before I started actually looking at people’s eyes, which is something about myself that I’ve been trying to work on recently.

“I, uh. I’m here for the research program.” I slid the flier across the desk in case he didn’t know what I was talking about. He smiled, and my heart did a little flip flop that was half embarrassment and half helpless affection for this man I’d only just met but who had beautiful eyes.

“I’ll take you back to the conference room,” he said. “Would you like anything to drink? Water, coffee?”

“Oh, no thank you.” I followed him through a maze of hallways into a room that was dominated by a long table.

“You can have a seat. I’ll let David know you’re here.” The door closed softly behind him.

I fiddled with the levers on my chair until it lowered with a soft hiss. Then I stood slightly, just enough to take my weight off the seat, and raised it back up again--I’d gone too far down, the first time. It wasn’t quite right the second time either, but before I could mess with it further, a middle-aged man entered the conference room and sat across from me.

“Good morning! I’m David, I’ll be guiding you through the process today. What was your name?”

“Melanie,” I said. “Is there, um, some paperwork I need to fill out, or…?”

He smiled widely, his blue eyes twinkling. “Straight to the point, then.” He set an intimidatingly thick stack of papers in front of me. Helpful sticky notes poked out of it at regular intervals, indicating “Sign Here” or “Initial Here.”

“Well,” he said, “I’m sure you’re already familiar with our terms but please allow me to reiterate. You will be given room and board for one year at no charge, beginning on the date you enter our program, as well as a lump sum of ten thousand dollars at the conclusion of your participation.

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“The entirety of your stay will be conducted in one of our state of the art FIVR pods, where you will be immersed in the company’s latest release, Dim Spirits. Keep in mind that the purpose of this program is to determine the long-term health effects of VR, so we will have you diagnosed by our team of doctors prior to entry into the pod, and there will be a final diagnostic before you leave our care, as well as consistent monitoring of your vital signs throughout the process.

“Should any life-threatening complications arise during the next year, you will be removed from your pod and cared for to the best of our ability. For any subsequent cognitive difficulties or mental health problems, the company will not be held liable…"

I tuned him out at that point. I had already made my decision, and I had done enough research to know it was well worth the risk. Granted, the whole point of the program was to better understand the long term risks of full immersion virtual reality, so there was a chance something terrible could happen, but the whole experiment was more of a publicity stunt than anything else. Everybody knew somebody who practically lived in the pod and didn't have any serious issues. But that was all anecdotal, and if gaming companies really wanted to push their more demanding games, they needed to be able to show scientific evidence that refuted the most obvious argument about health concerns.

So, they took people like me, who needed a place to live and wouldn't mind putting the rest of their life on hold for a year. Some people even did more time, and each additional year provided double the lump sum of the previous, so if I stayed a second year I would receive $10,000 for the first year and $20,000 for the second. I would have that option at the end of the year before they pulled me out of the game, and to be honest I hadn't decided what I would choose. That was a decision for Future Mel, and I didn’t mind putting it off until I actually knew what it felt like to live in the game for a year.

David cleared his throat; he’d noticed my lack of attention. I blushed. Well, probably. I mean, I felt like I should be blushing. I read in books all the time that people “flush with embarrassment” or they noticed someone else doing that, but have you ever actually been able to feel yourself blushing or notice it in someone else? Am I the weird one here, or is that something that books just exaggerate, like being able to feel someone watching you?

In any case, I looked back at David and felt a bit embarrassed that he’d caught me zoning out. That’s another thing about myself that I’ve been working on.

“I would like to reiterate that once you enter our program you are committed for the full year. Even in the case of family emergency or a change or heart, you will not be able to log out or exit the pod until that commitment has been fulfilled.”

His kind blue eyes had turned serious as he spoke. It made sense. People thought they could handle a full year away from the rest of the world, especially since that would be a whole year of playing a video game and not worrying about expenses, but that kind of thing could be more lonely than you expected, or maybe the game just wasn’t as fun, or whatever the reason.

That wasn’t going to be an issue for me, though. I wasn’t cutting anyone off or leaving anybody behind. I wasn’t putting my career on hold. I was somebody with nothing; nothing to lose, nothing to gain, and nowhere to go.

“I understand,” I said. “That won’t be a problem for me.”

He looked at me for long enough that I remembered why eye contact made me uncomfortable. Finally, he nodded. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and pushed the signed contract across the table.

“I’ll escort you to our medical facility, and from there you’ll be taken to your FIVR pod. Welcome to the family!”