The human brain is basically three pounds of tapioca pudding strapped in a dark room, forced to play a game its entire existence. The human mind is a very detailed hallucination the brain comes up while piloting a bioelectric suit all day. Even with the ability to plunge the human mind into a virtual existence, the ‘deep dive,’ we’re yet unsure of how the pudding comes up with its concept of self.
I am a hallucination named Christine Valcruz. My bowl of tapioca pudding is damaged; a rare parasite—Toxoplasma sombosis—got into it and is mucking about in there. I spent three years being treated for schizophrenia before they discovered the brain infection. I am one of only fifty people in the world who’s been diagnosed, though more and more psychiatric patients are being tested for the infection.
Right now, I am thinking about pudding and hallucinations and parasites slipping into my brain’s darkroom while reading and signing an extensive number of forms. The very expensive and impressive clinic where I’ll be spending the next three months is covering its ass.
In layman’s terms, they’re going to suck my consciousness into a game, cut away the infected bits of my brain, try to purge my system of any residue, grow back my brain bits, and then shove my consciousnesses back inside its pudding bowl.
If it's not obvious, this is experimental. They can’t even tell me their survival rate with humans, only baboons and chimps.
Fun times. Fun times.
My parents are with me, as is my lawyer. I am an adult, but I handed over a number of my medical, financial, and legal powers to them around the time that the voices went from sometimes whispering to me, to being able to converse with them.
I sign the papers without a care or concern in the world. The Christine Valcruz of today is not the same person I was three years ago. She is dead and not coming back. My parents think there’s a possibility that she’ll return but none of the doctors have suggested it. And the person I am right now, signing these papers, is not returning. She’s defective and her way of thinking is irrational and, frankly, bug-fucking nuts at times.
In three months, a new person will be (hopefully!) wake up from that silver deep-dive capsule. And I wish her all the best.
My father puts a solid, heavy hand on my shoulder and squeezes as I finish. His grip is too hard and I suppress a wince.
"Are you hungry?" I asked as the hospital’s lawyer shuffles through the papers, looking for any signature that I missed. "I have three hours before I have to start my fasting."
"What do you want for your last meal?" mom asked, dryly.
"Phrasing mom, phrasing!" I replied with a chuckle. "Cheeseburger and a milkshake. Not from the cafeteria downstairs. There should be a diner not far from here…"
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My consciousness returned gradually. I was aware of being aware before I sensed a body to go along with it or an environment to operate within. They'd let me pick the place I'd spawn into for character creation. I chose a farmhouse at the end of a cornfield as a thunderstorm rolled in. I laid sat inside on an overstuffed couch, simply feeling the wind brush my hair as I inhaled the scent of rain, fresh mud, and ozone. There was also a hint of rust from the old window screen. It popped in at out with a strong breeze.
I was free to spend as much or as little time as I wanted here before entering the game world. Penumbra Online had me flagged as a 'premium medical user.' While most people would be eager to dive into playing, those who joined for intensive medical procedures tended to take longer to synchronize, as well as having to deal with emotional issues.
The farmhouse had a small uplink node where my parents and a few friends had left messages. There was also a note from the system and some nurses regarding my progress.
Though I'd only gained consciousness about an hour ago, I'd been under for almost a week. Time dilation would stretch the remaining period threefold--three months in the real world would be experienced as nine months for me--but settling in for long-term deep diving was a slow process.
"I love you too, mom," I said into the microphone. "It's great in here. I think I'm going to enjoy myself." If you ever want to reassure someone, don't leave a long, blathering message about how they shouldn't be worried. Just keep in sweet and to the point.
After mom, dad, and my aunt, I started with a few messages from friends: "Even after I leave Penumbra, I'm going to need physical and cognitive therapy before I'm completely functional. I have no idea what I'm going to do for my birthday. Probably just chill and watch movies at home."
The nurse had passed on a questionnaire I was to answer. It started with simple things--my name, date of birth, where I thought I was, who the president was-- and then asked some odd ones. Did I have a ringing sensation in my ears? Could I close my eyes and touch my nose? Was I experiencing any unusual flavors in my mouth?
I'd asked for things like this to be delivered through text rather than have some virtual nurse pop into my farmhouse and try to chat with me. As long as I remained 'optimal' or 'acceptable,' then the medical staff and programs would stay unobtrusive.
I spent my first day in virtual space lounging around, doing nothing. There was a comfortable bed with the sort of handwoven quilt old ladies are supposed to make tucked into the corner. I had the house pipe in soft classical music and listened to the endless rolling thunder. If I wanted to, I could simply spend my months reading or watching movies or working on my drawings. I could even hook into the premiere, number-one, biggest most advanced VRMMO in the world and spend my time feeding quarters into a Ms. Pac-Man machine.
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It was tempting. I think we all feel the need to fold up into ourselves like little bits of origami paper every once in a while. The issue is that when you only have your own thoughts to bounce off of, those thoughts can lead you down strange avenues. The point of this exercise, after all, was to help me regain sanity. Spending too much time with myself was never a good way of doing so.
Also, I've always found myself boring. I'm an introvert but like people. They're more interesting than they look at first glance.
"House: What can I expect for character creation in Penumbra Online?" I asked aloud.
The air responded in an affable, professional feminine voice, as though it had been waiting patiently for my query.
"Penumbra provides the latest in character customization in both basic, advanced, and exotic races. Character creation focuses on your character's background and how they fit into the world. Everyone starts out as a level 1 novice so they can explore a wide range of play-styles before deciding on their first class at level 10."
I nodded to the empty air. "Initiate character creation process."
The world shimmered and the bed I'd been sprawled out on vanished from existence. I hit the soft dirt with a thump. No longer was I in my cozy farmhouse, but now appeared in what looked to be some sort of vegetable garden. Nearby, a grey rabbit munched on a head of cabbage. It raised its narrow head to me, still chewing, and watched me with anxious dark eyes.
As I stood up, brushing the black soil from my pants, it dashed into the bushes. Nearby, I heard a soft humming and saw a short, plump woman on her hands on knees. She was pulling out white carrots from the ground and placing them in her basket.
I frowned, unsure why'd I'd been dropped into this place. The woman hadn't noticed me, so absorbed was she in her work. As the sunlight played across her rosy cheeks and red-brown hair, I realized that it was me. Or, a version of me in dwarf or gnome or short-race form.
"Um..." I prompted the character creation personality.
A large, three-eyed crow landed on a cornstalk beside me. "The halfling race is hardworking and gregarious. You picked a secluded farmhouse for your Sanctuary, so I thought I'd start you off here. Not everyone who comes to Penumbra wants to go on adventures or fight monsters. Some focus on crafting, production, and mercantile skills. The town of Tradesmeet can provide you with an excellent start on a story focused on growing and creating, but also allows you to interact with a wide range of people and races if things get too boring."
"Huh." It hadn't occurred to me to simply settle down and farm for nine months. I explored a bit, traveling up a grassy hill and leaving my shorty mimic to her toil. The farmlands that stretched out before me were rich and golden, everything was awash in warm colors save for a magnificent lake of icy blue down below.
The designers hadn't bothered with realism. Three-foot pumpkins crowded one field while the scent of citrus floated from an orange grove nearby. Hairy cattle the size of buffalo tilled fields for barefoot halfling farmers in their simple overalls and straw hats.
Beside me, the crow landed and surveyed the expanse, inky feathers puffed with pride.
"You can sell what you grow or craft, and a portion of it will be converted into real money," the crow continued. "Some people use it as a small secondary income source, some as a part-time job, and a few are able to make a good living."
"There are probably better ways to make money from a game," I replied. I knew people streamed and sold virtual goods, and there were also professional virtual fighters who won contests. Penumbra had started up about five years ago, however, when my interests had turned away from watching others play games.
"What's best is to find your passion," the crow replied, "and convince others to pay you for it. Everything else is a compromise, even if you make more money that way."
Wise words from an electronic bird.
"What would you know about passion or compromise?" I asked. "You're programmed for a specific task. You have no desires outside of it, but also no needs or responsibilities."
The crow raised her foot, examining it thoughtfully. I noticed sharp talons at the end that glittered like black jewels under the sunlight. "I suppose you're right," she replied, in a tone that suggested the argument didn't interest her. For a moment, I felt rude--boorish. Here I was having a perfectly pleasant conversation with a crow-personality-character creator and now it seemed I'd insulted her.
"It's beautiful. But it's not for me," I said, addressing the landscape, the background, and all it implied.
She fluttered her wings in understanding and the view shifted again.
"Each basic race receives a bonus in two attributes, along with a handful of background bonuses and flaws that you can pick from a pool. Are you familiar with the game's attribute system?"
We appeared in an oasis at the edge of a desert. The warm and gentle sunlight from before became oppressive, and I felt the dry air leech the water from my body as I broke out in a sweat. I stumbled back into the shelter of palm trees as I covered my eyes from the glare off the sands. After a few second, my eyes adjusted but it still hurt to look out onto the vast expanse of white.
"No..." I had browsed an introductory packet a few weeks ago, but hardly recalled the details. "Can you do something about this light? This is really uncomfortable."
Day switched to night in a moment. The sun fleeing the sky, replaced by a massive moon that dominated the horizon. I went from sweating to shivering in a matter of moments. A howl, followed by a hyena's cackle echoed over the blue tinted dunes. A group appeared, running towards the oasis. They were tall but all hunched over and their gait was strange to me.
"Gnolls," the three-eyed crow answered my unasked question. "They can be your packmates. Gnolls receive a bonus to Might and Perception. They are strong fighters who roam the wild places of the world with their tribe. To a gnoll, the bonds of kinship are everything. They are fierce, loyal, and rightly feared among the weaker races."
There was a sudden rush of movement within the oasis. A clattering of unfamiliar tongues as people sprang up within it and torches were lit. Human men and women in desert garb appeared, their faces tattooed with strange symbols. Their faces were hard as they starred down the approaching mass of gnolls.
How many of the beastmen were there? Maybe thirty, it was hard to tell in this darkness. They didn't bother with torches. All I could see was gathered swarm racing forward in their bizarre stride. Their laughter harsh and terrible.
No one seemed to notice me. I assumed there was another mimic of me among the gnoll pack but it was impossible to tell. As I watched, the two groups met in battle. The humans carried spears and small shields while the gnolls wielded heavy, curved blades.
What followed was a bloody, joyous slaughter. The white sand was stained with blood, gnoll and human, but mostly human. The gnolls swung their heavy swords like cleavers, hacking and chopping with delight through limbs. If the humans had formed a solid shield wall, I expect it would have turned out better for them, but they didn't. A dozen fell immediately and then others started to run.
A human man, swathed in black robes, fled my way. On his scarred face was naked terror. When he was a foot away, about to barrel right through me, I heard a solid THUNK! and his eyes widened white. He stumbled and fell on his face, a throwing axe buried in his back. As he crawled pitifully away, I looked at his assailant.
It was a slick, black-furred monster. It drooled, pink tongue lolling out over yellowed and jagged teeth.
Our eyes met--it was me.
"No," my voice quivered. "I don't want this." It was a lie, my heart thundered in my chest and I could imagine losing myself to this violence, this madness. "Take me away from here."
The crow chuckled. "As you wish..."
And the oasis faded from reality.