3

The crow came back to check on him from time to time. Days and weeks passed but not a word passed between them. Ned did a lot of staring at the water watching the minnows, crawdads, and salamanders enact their intricate dramas in the pool and the creek, watching the clouds puff by through what little room the jostling trees allowed, watching those trees, their leaves turning and fluttering in the light breezes that flowed over his cave and through the valley, causing it all to glitter with gold-green light.

It was beautiful and that helped a little.

When Ned found food, he ate it. He didn’t always find it. He didn’t always look. When he did, it was always there. An assortment of nuts and berries and roots. Sometimes mushrooms. It was probably enough, though Ned would have argued he had no opinion on the matter.

One day, the crow flew in, spread his wings to catch the air, and came to an abrupt stop over the pool. Then he tucked his wings and dove into the water. He became a dark torpedo, menacing the minnows out of his way, then he broke the surface of the water and reality seemed to remember that crows weren't really built for that sort of thing.

The goddamn crow sputtered and squawked his way onto the sand where he shook and coughed. Ned could have sworn the bird was blushing.

Ned roared sudden laughter, shocking himself, and not all his tears came from mirth. He was just winding down, wiping his eyes, when the crow, looked at him with great patience, seemed to spit, then said to him, "I always wanted to try that."

It was another few minutes before Ned could manage, "Yeah, it certainly had that air about it." His face hurt from grinning.

"Very clever, Mr. Cartwright," said the crow, cocking his head first a quarter, then a half a tilt.

“I assure you, Mr. Crow, the pun was unintentional.”

Ned leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Anybody that brings me back from the dead and abducts me to the afterlife can call me Ned."

"Very well, Ned, though I didn't do any of that —"

"Your creators did."

"Yes. And this isn’t the afterlife."

“You’re right. If it was maybe I could see my family. If I want to see them. I think that right now that would be too hard. How fucked up is that? And I’m not doing anything here. I’ve barely moved. Given a second chance and I’m wasting it. I think I’m going to go on wasting it. You guys should have let me die.”

“I understand how you might feel that way, but, Mr. Cartwright? That just isn’t true.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t really want to die or be dead.”

“I don’t?”

“That’s what the car accident was for. The Developers always do something like that as a test. You chose to wake. You got up. You checked on Marianna and went to the aid of that poor boy. You risked yourself again to get him to the hospital. Then you chose to wake again. If you didn’t want to live you wouldn’t have done any of that. Many don’t. We leave them alone and they never wake. We put you through that awfulness to prove that, not only do you want to live, but that you’ll go back to putting yourself in danger for others immediately. It’s natural to grieve and be in pain, Mr. Cartwright, but you want to live and there’s the proof. You just miss your family, sir.”

Ned was quiet a long time.

Then, “Go away, bird.”

The crow flew away.

He came back a week later.

Ned heard him flutter to a landing somewhere behind him as he was soaking his feet in the pool. “Do you have a name?"

"I am your user interface."

"You're my what now?"

"The UI for this simulation."

"Do all simulations have UIs?" said Ned. “I suppose they have to.”

The crow cocked his head the other way. "I can't be sure as this is the only one of which I am a part. Players do seem to get upset when I call it a game."

"A game?"

"'Simulation' gets them asking questions rather than throwing things. Yes, this is a game, of sorts. You are a player, at least you will be once you leave the starting area, and I should point out that there is no hurry, Ned. Eventually, you'll get bored and leave this place and it'll begin when you’re ready."

“This is a game.”

"Yes.”

Ned sat back. “It never occurred to me that this could be a game. I guess I’ve been too self-absorbed to wonder what it was.” He looked around. He looked at his hand. At the water. “Wow.”

The crow pecked at the sand.

“If this is a game then I can win it, right? What’s my goal here?”

The crow looked at him. “The Developers say that there will be a number of heroic story arcs presented to you. You may choose any number of them that you wish and you win if you can complete them all.”

Ned grunted. “They say that, do they? And what do you say?”

“I say that you’re here to do what you did when you were a teacher on Earth. You’re here to do the best you can for as long as you can.”

Ned pondered that for a moment, then decided to let it percolate in the back of his mind for a while. Let his subconscious chew on it and see what it spat out.

He said, “Why don’t players like it when you call it a game? Especially if that’s what it is?”

“People object to having their lives reduced to playthings against their will, I suppose. That’s the gist of what they like to tell me.”

“I take the point.”

“You don’t seem too upset about that, Ned.”

“Oh, I am. It’s just that there’s fuck all I can do about it at the moment. In the meantime, I’ve got to get up and doing.”

“There is no rush.”

“I appreciate that.” Ned fished a pebble from the edge of the pool. He looked at it, dark and glistening, smooth from thousands of years of water passing by. Years did that to things sometimes. They did for Ned, smoothing out his edges. He tossed it back into the water. He didn’t feel particularly smooth lately. Maybe that was a good thing. “I have questions,” he said to the crow.

“I’m required to tell you that, as a UI, I’m fully customizable. The bird form is generally less threatening so I like to start there, but I can appear as human, if you’d prefer.”

“Why would I care?”

“I am only the UI, here to suit your needs.”

“You’ve dodged the question. What do most people do?”

The crow pecked once at the sand. “Generally, I’m a bunch of disembodied screens glowing in the air by now.” And then the crow grew into a small young man. He was shirtless with light blue skin. He was lean but muscular, a runner's physique. He wore shapeless black pants with no shoes. His hair was short, mussed, and so black it seemed to lack form. Darker blue and lighter blue abstract designs were tattooed over his skin. His face, however, was clear, and gentle in its expression. He smiled and spread his hands. "Better?"

The last time Ned had seen him was dead in the passenger seat in his car. “Son of a bitch! That was you?”

“Sorry,” said the UI. “Yes.”

Ned shook his head. I’m playing games within games, he thought. He let himself breathe for a moment. “Let’s keep you a real boy for now,” he said.

The UI dipped his head once, birdlike. "Should I begin then?"

“Hmm?”

“With your questions?”

"No. You still need a name. You really don't have one? Beyond User Interface, I mean."

"No, I do not. Each player gets a UI to help orient them and answer questions about the world. I’m allowed to answer most questions that a character would reasonably know if they had grown up in this world. Though, as I indicated, some players prefer to see screens in their imagination. You can change to that at any time if you like. You might find it less intrusive."

"Less personal, you mean," Ned grunted. "Again, it seems fair to ask if you have a preference.”

The young man blinked. “I suppose I like being corporeal. I find I enjoy talking to my players.”

Ned nodded. Thinking. “So, where do you go when you're not here?"

"The best answer I can give to that is outside.” He gestured with his hands to indicate everything around them. “Outside of this, I mean,” he said. “I go outside to listen and wait until I'm called."

"'Listen?' Not 'watch?'"

"I'm in a state of semi-consciousness. I can recall what you were doing while I'm away if needed. If not, it's forgotten and cannot be retrieved by anyone, not even creators."

"Ah," said Ned. "And who are the creators?"

"I have no idea. I sometimes get compulsions, like the one I received to come here today. You didn't call me, after all. I would've remembered. They sent me, but I've never seen them or heard their voices. They observe and sometimes, I think they play here, but most of the time I think they study what goes on."

"Study?"

"Yes! Can you imagine a better way to learn about intelligence and its behaviors than a simulated environment designed to stress and test its players? Soon, I'm sure we'll start to develop actual cultures here, with writing and art beyond what was programmed in. Right now we've got the basics, a good foundation, but no real, lived-through history to give it any depth. I suspect that matters. That it has to be lived through to really develop in any true sense. History is what creates culture and culture is what intelligence invents to deal with the difficulties in life. Culture asks its members questions that cause it to grow and adapt. Questions other cultures may find relevant as well, but might never think to ask. A book, say, that was written here within the game world and is popular here, that is instructive and wonderful here," the UI paused to gesture at the heavens, "Can be even more so out there. It's an anthropologist's dream! Maybe what we’re supposed to do here is simply that. Create cultural artifacts under controlled circumstances that can be, well, mined, I suppose is the word, to the benefit of the creators." The blue man sighed. “I wouldn’t know. They don’t tell us much. I just work here.”

Ned nodded. "Makes sense. It's not only fun for the whole family but educational too."Indeed, Ned could imagine how a simulated world as complex as he suspected this one was could provide scholars with insights on, well, maybe every subject from every art to zoology. He could also see how folks waking up here might want to reduce their UIs to impersonal screens, especially after being ripped away from everything and everyone he’d even known to find themselves alone in a strange new world. It would be so easy to mistake this blue fellow for a friend. Especially when Ned so badly needed one.

Games within games.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Ned took a moment to breathe and steady himself. Grief was nothing new to Ned. He'd lost his father some five years back and knew how it ambushed you over and over again, more frequently and powerfully when it was new. This was a bit different, yes. Farah and the kids weren't dead and neither was he, after all. It was just that the universe didn’t give a damn either way, so it was going to stagger him from time to time, like right now, and that was that. He didn’t know how he could ever see them again.

The UI cleared his throat. "Would you like to see them now?"

Ned looked at him. He almost spoke.

It was almost like the UI could read his mind.

“I can read your mind, Ned,” said the blue boy. “At least some of your surface thoughts, especially when they’re obvious. I can’t actually hear you with my ears when you call from Outside if I couldn’t. Besides, it seems to help.”

Ned nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He didn’t know whether to cry or strangle the little bastard.

The UI’s voice was gentle. "I can show you a few minutes of their recent past. If I gave you more than that, Ned, you'd never leave this place. I can show you your wife, one of your daughters, or all of them together, whatever you wish, okay?"

Ned nodded, wiping his eyes.

"It'll appear in front of you as a screen. They had a nice dinner together the other day. Would you like to see that?"

"Together?" Ned’s voice sounded like a croak. It was like the familiar mechanics of breathing and speaking were now too complex for him. "Like, at the table?"

A screen appeared and there was Farah, smiling, and his two girls, Chloe and Jasmina, pulling takeout from a large plastic bag.

"McGillicutty's Emperial Burgers," said Ned with a sigh. He looked over at the UI. "Fusion burger place."

The UI nodded as if he understood. Maybe he did.

Ned’s old chair at the dinner table was empty. He'd never claimed the head of the table because he was a big man and, due to the layout of the room, it was hard for anybody to pass behind him if he sat there. He preferred the outside corner spot, across from his wife. Chloe was the youngest so she'd claimed the short end of the rectangle with Jaz on the inside by the window. Sometimes she sat by her mother. Sometimes she sat by her father.

His girls behaved as they always did. They spoke and laughed. They enjoyed each other’s company. As he watched, Ned did notice some differences. They sat a little closer together than he was used to seeing. They looked at each other longer. Farah kept touching them, as if to reassure herself they were really there. She touched their arms for emphasis when making a point or seeking their attention. She touched their faces to clear away a crumb or brush away an errant lock of hair, and his girls leaned into their mother's light caresses. Ned watched the entire meal rapt, and, while he could hear every word they said, none of it held the slightest importance compared to the sight of them and the sounds of their voices and laughter.

When it was over, Ned sat there a long time with his UI, his eyes aglow, staring inward as he sought to chisel into his memory the image of his lost family.

Ned took a moment to breathe and steady himself. Grief was nothing new to Ned. He'd lost his father some five years back and knew how it ambushed you over and over again, more frequently and powerfully when it was new. This was a bit different, yes. Farah and the kids weren't dead and neither was he, after all. It was just that the universe didn’t give a damn either way, so it was going to stagger him from time to time, like right now, and that was that. He didn’t know how he could ever see them again.

When he looked at his UI, he’d never felt more gratitude towards another person in his life. "Hughie," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"After this?" said Ned. And if that turned out to be a mistake in this strange new world that he didn’t understand run by people beyond his comprehension and therefore couldn’t trust, that was just too bad. "After this, you've got to have a name. I figure a U and an I, if you were to pronounce it, You-ie, is pretty close to Hughie, so you're Hughie, if you want to be."

"Agreed," said Hughie. "Hughie it is."

Ned beamed up at him, wiped his tears, and stood. "Hughie? What about Marianna? The school? Can you show me those? I mean, my mom's still alive too."

Hughie said, "Well, it's restricted to close family, but that's just for viewings. If you like, I can keep an eye on anybody you wish. It doesn't really take up much of my bandwidth, honestly. Marianna — "

"No," said Ned. "Not now. I’m, uh. Later, maybe. I dunno."

"I understand," said Hughie. "Now, I’m required to ask would you like this to be my default state? Me, like this? Or perhaps you prefer my crow self? Or maybe the interactive screen?"

"An interactive— No! No screen. As for the rest, maybe switch between the bird and the boy? Whatever’s most handy at the moment?"

"Sure, Ned. I’m also required to tell you that there are limits to my free will. I can't actively help you, Ned. I'm not permitted even to want to. It's literally not able to occur to me to do much more than answer direct questions. Even now, I'm only pointing it out because that's part of the training. People have trouble understanding this and dealing with it sometimes."

“Right. How could you simply stand by and watch a friend be eaten by a dragon? That kind of thing. I can see that. You're a UI. You help me interact with the world and answer my questions. Most games have some kind of help function. Can you be hurt, though? If I get into trouble or we're attacked, can they get to you?"

"No. They don’t seem to be able to see me or sense my presence unless I want them to. We can’t have a bunch of players wandering around talking to their imaginary friends. No, Ned, you'll not get me killed, though this world is very dangerous to everybody in it. You’ll have to be careful."

"There's no respawning?"

Hughie shook his head. "Just the one life, just like you're used to. The thinking is that effective immortality would obstruct the purpose of the simulation. Something about death being a motivator for creativity and growth.”

"Okay, what else should I know? You probably have this whole spiel and my questions are just getting in the way. Why don't you go on ahead?" It was time to watch Hughie very carefully. If there was some kind of hidden agenda, maybe it would slip out during what Ned knew was traditionally next when preparing for a role-playing game, character creation. Ned wanted to trust the little blue fellow. Ned knew that Hughie was probably designed to instill that trust by these so-called Developers for purposes of their own.

"This is the part of your character sheet that contains your basic stats," Hughie told him. "I was impressed to see that none of them are below average. Your Mental capabilities are pretty high, and can inform your overall Magical abilities. Do I need to explain each?"

Ned was rubbing his chin with a finger, scowling in thought. "These seem pretty standard. Siz is, what, Size? I'm six-one."

"Size, yes. That, combined with your Constitution, by the way, determines your hit points. We’ll do more on that in a moment. Each of these stats or Attributes has Skills attached to their category, like so." And Hughie swiped away the first chart to make another appear.[https://i.imgur.com/PbP9zHw.jpg]

“These, according to our measurement algorithms, are the Physical Skills you've developed over a lifetime. These are not representative of everything you’ve ever learned, of course. They could hardly all be listed here. Rather, these are the skills the governing AI has determined as relevant. They also measure your basic ability under stress. You might be able to fire an arrow point-blank into a tree over and over and never miss. When you’re hunting or in combat, the percentage, as it stands now is thirty-five percent."

Ned read over them carefully. "Does this game take place in a contemporary setting? And when have I ever fired a submachine gun?"

Hughie said, "Never, but your skill in other firearms helps give you a higher base score. Some skills transfer over to a certain ability score in other skills. In other words, sometimes one skill can affect others. Here are your Mental Skills."[https://i.imgur.com/coi9OVm.jpg]

Once again, Ned examined the chart carefully. "I take it Credit does not mean I can run up a tab at any given tavern."

"No, that's how much people are likely to trust you right away."

"Ah, I think I've seen something like that in a game before. And these are all percentages, you said?"

"Yes."

"So, with Persuade I have a fifty-eight percent chance to convince an orc to go fuck himself?"

"Suggestions for biological improbabilities and insults will have a corresponding difficulty penalty attached to a percentage-based die roll depending on the result desired."

"Gotcha. Right, so, if I make the roll, what under a fifty-eight, the universe will determine an added difficulty based on, like, the orc's intelligence? Wisdom?"

"That'll depend on the orc and his particular proclivities and disposition at the time, but essentially, yes."

"So, he might have a lonely romantic interlude right there or try to kill me based on the strength of my roll. Are there crits?"

Hughie nodded. "If you roll at or below twenty percent of your target score, it's a crit, the effects of which are determined by an algorithm. There are also Double Crits and an Epic Crit if you roll a one, and there are corresponding Critical Failures too. I have to say, you're pretty good at this, Ned. You catch on quick."

Ned scratched his head. "What are those plusses on the sheet?"

"Touch one and I'll show you."

Ned selected the one below Accounting, touching the floating screen with a finger. More skills appeared in alphabetical order between that and Bargain.

[https://i.imgur.com/GfkzxiF.jpg]

“These are skills that, yes, you could maybe succeed in trying, but it's so unlikely so the Developers did that to reduce clutter," said Hughie. “They’re skills you could have that have often been given to other players and skills that no longer apply here as well.”

“Hey, I know some of that stuff. I must’ve seen Raiders of the Lost Ark a hundred times and I can find the Big Dipper. Orion….”

“Yes, but can you do that here? With this world’s cosmos? This world’s history?”

"Yeah, I see. Did you say something about Magic Skills?"

"Yes, but that’s blank for the moment. You have to earn or learn magic. Nobody starts out with it. Right now your twenty points of Will you can use to resist spells, if the spell allows for that, but that's about it. Honestly, I've rarely seen Willpower start out that high. You’re very well suited to the magical classes."

Ned smiled. "Someone less kind might have labeled that stubborn pigheadedness. I worked in city schools for a quarter-century. I rarely missed a day of work and loved my family. That's Willpower, Jack."

Hughie blinked. "But I'm Hughie. Aren’t I?"

Ned laughed. "Figure of speech."

"Ah."

“Oo, maybe I could start a magic school,” said Ned. “Or a school that teaches everything including magic! Of course, I’ll have to learn how it’s all done here.” He looked at Hughie. “Um, how’s it done here?”

“That’s a question I’m not allowed to answer. You can easily find out —"

“When I leave the safe area.”

“Yes.”

Ned sighed. "There are hit points?"

"Yes. Here."

[https://i.imgur.com/NjMlPyr.jpg]

"Physical Hit Points are determined as an average between Size and Constitution. When they're all gone, you die. Social Hit Points are an average of Intelligence and Wisdom. When those are all gone, you're no longer able to function socially in that particular situation. Mental Hit Points are an average of Wisdom and Willpower. Lose those and the result is determined by a complex algorithm that produces a range of consequences from rage-quitting the particular activity that broke you, clinical depression, PTSD, even permanent psychosis." Hughie was wagging a finger at Ned in warning.

“Holy shit.”

"Yes. Oh, and as the game does not allow for buffs or debuffs while in the safe zone, it's removed yours."

"It's removed my what now?"

"Buffs are improvements on —“

"I know what buffs and debuffs are. What do you mean you removed mine? I had buffs and debuffs?"

"Oh! Yes! PTSD. Hyper-awareness can be a buff here, but you also had a weakness toward clinical depression, a compromised immune system due to stress, and some other things. None of that's allowed in the zone so it all had to go. Your stressors are mainly situational, Ned, so you’re expected to trend towards health now that your situation has changed and those aren’t affecting your thought patterns. Any buff or debuff remaining when you choose to leave will post as a notification through the system."

“You’re saying I had all that? Like, before I got here? Back on Earth?”

“Yes. Mainly from your employment, but you have just died rather horribly.”

Ned snorted. “Point taken.”

Ned squinted at the screen and, on a hunch, swiped his hand across it the other way. Sure enough, the previous screens slid into and out of view depending on how far and how hard, and in which direction he swiped. It was all very intuitive. Or was Hughie simply reading his mind? Ned guessed it didn’t matter. "Hmm," he said. "So there must be ways to get better at all these skills. Right?"

Hughie looked pleased. "Yes! Okay, so when you are busy out living in the world, trying things, getting into fights or whatever, at the end of the day, or whenever you get a chance to relax and reflect upon what you've learned, you not only begin to recover hit, magic, and social points if you’ve lost any, but you'll be able to improve your skills. What happens is, say you've successfully used your Dodge skill which is currently at forty-seven percent. Upon Reflection, you can make a percentage roll. If you roll above it, instead of failing as you would normally, this time you've succeeded and you get to roll a die and add that to your percentage score. That way it’s harder to get better at something the better you get at it." Hughie looked at him. “The die rolled will be determined by your current level in that skill. The die also gets smaller as you improve.”

Ned nodded and gestured for the UI to continue.

"Now, each time you raise a skill past sixty-five percent, that skill becomes a category instead, giving you access to Professional Skills within that category."

"Professional Skills?"

"Yes. Suppose you decide to be an archer. Most begin their training shooting at stationary objects under ideal conditions. It’s not raining. Your leg isn’t being chewed on. Things like that. You’re standing still. The target’s standing still. You get all the time you need to aim and shoot which hardly mimics combat conditions. Once you get good enough to hit the target sixty-five percent of the time, well, your archery skill is above the base. You must’ve had some instruction?”

“Long ago. Gym class.”

“I see. Well, past sixty-five percent, it’s like you realize you’re good at particular things in the overall archery category. Maybe you’re really good at long distance shots. Maybe you suck at moving targets. See? The World AI will give you options based on your talents within that new category and a certain number of points, generally about double the points you had there initially, and you get to distribute them as you see best to become the type of archer you want to become.”

“I guess that makes sense,” said Ned. "I mean, I think I get it, but I'm probably going to forget right after this. You know that, right?"

Hughie laughed. "This isn't my first rodeo, Ned. Reminding you is what I'm here for.” The UI’s eyes flew wide as he remembered something important. “Oh! Criticals and Critical Failures allow you to roll to increase the skill right then, in the moment, if you choose. You can improve right away. It’s like you suddenly understood something about the skill in an epiphany and you get better."

"Got it."

Hughie laughed and patted Ned on the shoulder. "Probably, yes, but I'll be here to ask if you need anything repeated or explained."

Ned said, "Well, it seems pretty straightforward. I'll get used to it. Not my first rodeo either."

"One last thing," said the UI and he heaved a great sigh. "We're still in the early stages of development. There are rewards for— "

"Wait, what?" Ned swore foully. "You mean to goddamn tell me that I'm in a goddamn early goddamn access game, goddammit?"

Hughie sighed again. "Why does everybody always say that?"