Booth glanced around his room as he entered, at all those things that had been fixtures tacked to his bulletin board or wall for so long that he’d ceased even seeing them—football letters, game programs, his high school diploma with the gold and black tassel draped across its corner. All the symbols of how he’d been the best son he could. He wasn’t sure if it had been the best he was capable of, but it would have to be enough, now. It was all he had to leave them with.
Ignoring his bed, the place where he’d expected to die, Booth sat in his surround-chair. The flutter in his stomach might have been the usual anticipation of entering a brand new game for the first time, or the excitement over his first time playing what Neuroconnect’s makers had been touting as TIR, totally immersive reality.
They could shorten TIR to TR, now. Total Reality. And the thumping of Booth’s heart came from sheer terror over knowing this would be the last time he’d log into any game whatsoever—and that was only if things went well. The other alternative was he’d just be dead.
You’re going to be dead, either way.
He could feel, deep in his chest, a rattling when he breathed that was just like the one he’d heard from Toby. Fever drew sweat from his forehead and back, soaking his chair and the band of his visor. The only new piece of gear was the Neuroconnect, a cap that looked like a fine mesh of indestructible wires. He’d placed it on his head before putting the visor over top.
Shaking, he pulled on his haptic gloves. They interfaced with his visor and presented a virtual control pad and viewscreen that seemed projected into the air in front of him. It was the same set-up he’d used to play the Redemption Wars trailer for Toby what seemed like years ago but had just been three or so hours.
If Toby had lived just another couple hours, I could’ve given him my slot. I’d have done it in a heartbeat.
That last thought rang through Booth’s head with a note of angry belligerence and a surge of body-wracking fury that blurred his vision even more than the fever already was.
He was only ten years old. How the fuck will that ever be all right?
A cough wracked Booth, and the icon for Ugly Star Productions’ launcher, a dark blue shield with a silver star, wavered on his projected screen’s desktop.
Everyone had been talking about uber-realistic VR for decades, of course. It hadn’t been one of the big guys who nailed it first. The relatively small and previously unknown Ugly Star Productions would have that honor.
Not that it matters now. No one will be left to remember. They’ll be the first and the last, just like me entering their game.
Another coughing fit came and went. Forcibly reminded that he didn’t really have time to sit around feeling angsty, Booth lifted his gloved hand and tapped the game’s launcher. The icon expanded into a square at the center of his screen, with concept art depicting fierce fighters and shadowy rogues and magic-users with dazzling spell effects and the game’s title emblazoned across the top.
And, of course, the familiar green rectangle with the word “Play” centered on it.
Downstairs, his mother hadn’t stopped crying. Now, her sobs were broken by a cough. Just the one, but she’d know what it meant. Booth did, too.
None of us are getting out of this. It’s over.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to be in this chair. The game he was about to run wouldn’t be a nice break from reality or a fun way to hang out with his buddies but because it was the only way out. It was what his parents wanted. What they expected from him.
Booth flipped the control that raised the sides of his surround-chair, enclosing him and cutting off the sounds of sirens and tears and a dying world. He stared a few seconds longer at the game’s launch screen, tempting TRP to take him before he could make his escape. That simple green “Play” icon sat patiently in the center of his vision.
The sensation that bombarded his body was like a dramatic swell of music in a horror movie, the big, discordant, almost unbearable moment that trapped your breath and felt like insects skittering across your skin. It was that frozen moment of helplessness, where you could clearly see the awful thing about to happen but were incapable of changing it or even looking away.
Just do it. Before you start blubbering or lose your nerve or die before you can.
For the final time, Booth used his haptic glove to perform the simple task of hovering over and tapping the play button for a brand new, zero-hours-played game.
The only sound was Booth’s labored breathing and a silent, anguished scream that filled his entire being. Everything faded to black. The words “Please Wait” flickered in soft white against the darkness but immediately began to shrink and fade.
When he’d had his wisdom teeth removed, there’d been a moment as the anesthesia counted down from three to one where terror had gripped him and he’d wanted to change his mind. He’d been aware of the darkness closing in around the edges of his vision, an unstoppable slide away from consciousness, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It was like falling backward down a well, watching the circle of brightness above reduce to a pinpoint and then nothing.
Stolen story; please report.
Nonexistence.
And then flickers of consciousness. Again, Booth was reminded of his anesthesia experience. Moments like snapshots started coming to him. He had a vague recollection of conversing with people but was almost certain that had to be imagination. He felt sure that a long time had passed but at the same time as if he’d only just gone to sleep. He floated and noticed things going on around him, aware but undetached.
The darkness around him seemed to grow a shade lighter. A whisper rose that he eventually recognized as music, its volume slowly increasing. He recognized the music, of course. He’d listened to it on repeat for hours before his brother’s death.
The trailer was a clip from the opening cinematic.
In that detached way, he also noticed that he’d thought of Toby’s death but a sort of emotional buffer seemed to be in place around him. He no longer felt like he was internally screaming. He didn’t feel happy, either. That would be horribly unnatural. He just felt… present. Buffered somehow from the emotional onslaught going on just before he’d entered the game.
In the same moment, Booth realized that not only did he feel emotionally dulled, but he didn’t feel sick any longer. His lungs no longer burned. His throat didn’t scratch. The constant urge to cough had fallen silent.
Despite understanding why he could no longer feel those things, it was a relief. Somewhat guiltily, he leaned into it.
Rest a little now. You can go back to feeling like a selfish jerk later.
His parents were dead. His brother.
Me. I’m dead.
None of the thoughts he tested himself with prompted any particularly dramatic responses in terms of physical sensation or emotion. He turned his attention to the cinematic growing out of the darkness around him.
The scene played out pretty much the same as the trailer—misty darkness, campfire, mysterious movements just at the edge of vision. The difference was in Booth’s point of view. Instead of standing outside the scene looking in, he found himself in the midst of the huddled folk around the crackling campfire. When the Dragon sprang from the shadows and flew skyward, he soared alongside it. Its roar rang in his hearing as if right beside him. When the angelic figure of the Radiant descended on wings that up close looked more like a conglomeration of geometric shapes than like feathers or flesh, Booth felt the chilly air moved by the wings. A scent like electrical burning and rain swirled around him.
That’s new.
Scent had been incorporated into VR previously, of course. But it generally relied on a face mask with a limited number of fragrances and often lacked subtlety. This felt alive and specific and changed in intensity and direction as the Radiant moved in relation to Booth’s invisible position within the scene.
The Radiant swung its sword. The blade rang against the Dragon’s crimson-colored metallic wings. Blinding light eradicated the scene.
When darkness returned, falling embers floated around Booth. This would’ve been the point in the trailer where the thrashing music started and cut scenes played, but that didn’t happen. Booth also realized, belatedly, that no mysterious feminine voice was narrating about Dragons and Radiants and how they regularly showed up to screw things up for the rest of the world.
As sparks fell like flickering firework embers through the darkness surrounding Booth, the soft music gave way to a murmur of unintelligible voices. Booth instinctively strained to hear them better. Curiosity tickled in the back of his mind.
Who’s talking? What are they saying?
Immediately, guilt kicked against whatever restraints had been holding it at bay until now. Booth still felt groggy and out of it and mostly emotionally numb. He knew what he should be thinking and feeling, and it had nothing to do with a stupid game.
I didn’t even want to play this game.
Booth had played online with his friends starting in middle school, although the exact participants came and went. MMOs scratched the same itch as football, immediate and fast and in the moment with your teammates and friends. Redemption Wars was reported to use a turn-based gameplay style, which was not a genre Booth thought he’d like much.
His circle of gaming buddies had thinned a lot lately, though. Bryan and Ron had gotten the scholarships that Booth hadn’t and were playing college ball. Others in their circle had gone to college or gotten jobs. A lot of the guys couldn’t show up as often. Some had left altogether. A sense of losing interest and drifting apart had set in. When Elias said they should play RW together, Will had jumped on the suggestion.
Booth hadn’t wanted to lose touch with two more friends, so he’d gone along. He’d figured the two would get bored of Redemption Wars and be ready to go back to the action stuff soon enough. And of course, there was the cool novelty of trying out Neuroconnect.
Elias and Will. It had been barely more than a week since they’d played together. It felt like years. Were they dead already? What about Ron and Bryan and all the other guys, for that matter? They could all be dead. He’d never know what had happened to them.
Real life was over. And maybe it was unhealthy to hide in a game, but as coping mechanisms went, Booth didn’t figure it was any worse than the pharmaceutical or any other variety. Sometimes it helped to distract yourself until your subconscious figured out how to process stuff, even if it was in a game you didn’t particularly want to play.
It’s what I have to work with. So work with it.
Booth returned his attention to the rising voices. They’d begun to separate, now, female voices and maybe a few male, although he couldn’t tell for certain. Words started filtering through.
“Their resting places are empty. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Agreed. But have you any clues yet as to where they will reappear this time?”
Mist emerged from the unbroken darkness. A soft glow coalesced a few feet in front of Booth. He tried to will himself closer to it, but his viewpoint refused to move.
“Some inklings. We should disperse and gather more information.”
“There is the other issue, as well.”
Within the glowing mist, silhouettes moved, darkening and fading with their matching voices as they seemed to move closer and then away. Some seemed taller, others short. No details revealed more than that.
“She will do what needs to be done. She is not wrong in her motivations.”
“Still.”
“Sometimes more extreme measures are required. You know this.”
The mist began to clear, but at the same time the light fell once more. Soft edges fell away from the speaking figures, rendering them with tantalizing sharpness, but darkness hid whatever details might have been revealed. A rustling of clothing and footfalls joined the speaking voices.
“So we watch. Search for signs.”
“And soldiers. This fight always requires those willing to join our cause.”
Booth sensed a predictable hook into the game. “Those willing to join our cause” equals the player characters.
“We begin now?”
“We must.”
The figures grew smaller, as if moving away, leaving a room perhaps. Darkness dropped in full across Booth’s vision. A moment later, the ineffable smokiness of that darkness stabilized to a steady emptiness that more closely resembled a flatscreen filled with black. It felt both closer and more solid.
A line of soft white text faded in, floating a few feet in front of Booth’s viewpoint.
[Who will you become?]