“CNS interface shutting down, PNS suppression shutting down, Hatch releasing, hatch released, peripheral safety straps releasing… released… main security harness unlocked! Dormant Entertainment thanks you for playing Exile. We know you’ll be back!”
When I was finally logged out of the game – the logging out process does take some time – sunlight blinded my real-world vision.
It was Grandfather’s voice that pulled me out of my routine musings regarding how Dormant could improve its rig. He was on the phone and, of all places, rummaging perfunctorily through the contents of my overly-cluttered desk (whoops!).
“Look, I’ve got to go, my lazy, good-for-nothing grandson is waking up.” Ha! Even though I was his last remaining grandson, Grandfather very seldom spared more than a momentary interest in me. He was weirdly rude that way...
Anyway, he hung up on whoever he was talking to – if he had actually been talking to someone. It was hard to ever be sure Grandfather was indeed on the phone with people nowadays. Over the years since mum and dad died... well, I’d come to believe that he had me overhear what he considered to be valuable life-advice over likely phoney phone calls. Paranoid of me to think so? Perhaps. But my grandfather claiming to have access to high level politicians? Yeah, right, please.
“Conniving” grandfather commented, an unfamiliar, bitter tone edging into his voice. “It always amazes me the lengths people will go to to avoid hard work. This–“ he pointed at my pile of notes, battle plans, team compositions, maps of known dungeons, self-made monster book of monster weaknesses, the compiled – complete – printout of forum notes of known Exile workers with accompanied list of people they’d deigned respond to,… “This” he gesticulated, “–is industrious and sheer, bloody… genius.”
Wow! I did a double-take: something was badly wrong here – and it was alarming. Grandfather never complimented anybody. Ever. What’s more Grandfather had never shown any interest in Exile, had the old man’s age finally led him off the deep end?
“Grandfather…” I began carefully, “Why exactly are you rummaging through my stuff…?”.
I scrutinised his face… his expression… there was something off there as well. The usual almost-masked twinkle in his eyes… That inexplicable sparkle of intelligence that betrayed a sense of cunning adventure. The sparkle seemed to be gone, dead; or at least greatly diminished. I don’t know how to describe it. When you’ve known someone for so long, you notice when something’s going on, like a game-imbued sixth sense allowing the otherwise impossible.
I caught a whiff of it then: Grandfather seemed to have given up, or be giving in, to something… What exactly I couldn’t say. Maybe it was my imagination running wild, my brain having been exposed to one too many a long session in the gaming rig.
Maybe.
The fact of the matter was, I was immediately concerned and tipped off when the old man didn’t go off on yet another passion-filled rant, another rampage of myriad soul-destroying words, a tall take of my generations squandered potential (he hated Dormant Entertainment's accomplishments for one thing...).
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Something was off; and he appeared cool as a cucumber.
“I hope you will start putting as much zeal into putting your best foot forwards tomorrow in your real world endeavours.”
He emphasised the word “real” – he always did. That last reassured me that Grandfather was still my grandfather: strong, formidable, stuck-in-his-ways, immutable-to-change,… Small consolation really.
“Wait, what do you mean “best foot forwards?”
“Mmm?” he responded, still pretending to be engrossed in a brief diary of odds and ends I’d jotted down a few days ago. “I pulled a lot of strings to get you that job downtown.”
Now, my desk was a massive dusty affair. A great big mish-mash of everything Exile. It was a great big wooden thing occupying fully a fifth of my bedroom’s available floorspace. The fact that he’d ferreted out something so recent as that particular notebook amongst the clutter was, to me, nothing short of stupefying.
“What job?” I asked, dumfounded.
He slowly turned around then. His expression somehow both scolding, sorrowful and giving me the chills. But Grandfather doesn’t make a habit of letting his disappointment travel anywhere near his posture, or remain for more than a flicker on his aged face; unless he’s going off on the failings of the young, of course.
Today, Grandfather’s mouth maintained its shriveled line as thin as his pencil-gray eyebrows and combover. That’s when it finally hit me: Grandfather hadn’t even even begun to shout yet.
And yet, he didn't begin now: adjusting his goofy tie (carnation red and spotted with stars), Grandfather stared stone-hard into my eyes. Then, he turned away and gestured at the closet door where – plain for all to see – hung my job interview clothes.
“You promised not two hours ago that you would go.” he grumbled.
“Two hours?” I asked dumfounded. My mind racing. I hadn’t…
“That’s right. And you’d better make a good first impression tomorrow."
"Here" he added, "just in-case... I’m idiot-proofing this all for you: this is the exact time, the address, the…”
I tuned him out, not intentionally mind you, but I was too puzzled over his odd words and, in that moment, nothing seemed to make sense to me.
“Two hours…” I thought, my mind racing. Two hours ago was…
Holy Mana! Everything suddenly clicked into place and I could see it clear as day. I eyed my gaming rig: the mindwipe! Four floors worth of memories…This was crazy, mind wipes shouldn’t wipe out memories external to Exile! But here I was, an entire encounter with my Grandfather forgotten. I must have logged out and spoken to him – at length...
Unbelievable, really. What’s more, soon enough, I would learn that this was going to be one of my last… well, never mind.
When at last my grandfather left the room, he left a note and an attached business card in my hand. The card read simply: [insert business card’s contents].
I strained to piece together my last few hours of Outworld life: I’d somehow promised my grandfather to take a job with one of his old acquaintances. [A few details]
I cobbled together a story of what must have happened. Since my parents, siblings and, yeah, the rest of my family died… well… Had I really been so desperate for familial attention that, earlier on today, I’d traded my vocational aspirations for a little bit of grandfatherly interest? It seemed farfetched, but not wholly impossible. While Exile was, and is, my favourite past-time (which I’m sure sounds pathetic to some), in my heart-of-hearts I knew a series of events that included making Grandfather somewhat proud of me was most likely to closely lined up with the now-forgotten truth.
As it happened, I had an hour to go through my notes myself: I had an unconquered dungeon to beat, and still the ironclad will to beat it. Right, better get to it.. As for Grandfather, he’d be flying away on business tomorrow. Already, in a sense, he as turning his back on me. I glanced down at the business card one last time and sighed in resignation, placing it in one of tomorrow’s pockets.
I should have known better than to ask a working man to be my friend.