We live in a society with no disease, no shortages, abundant clean energy, and really no need to work because of micro-robotics and the advanced artificial intelligence that operates them.

I, for one, find it boring.

I want a frontier, danger, adventure. That struggle makes life meaningful for a man. Yeah, that kind of life. I don’t need to get into the tech class and have a harem to occupy my time when I got games! And when it comes to zombie games, I’ve played everything out here worth playing. But I’ve never found anything worth going into the full insanity of active cryo-stasis for.

Until that day came. The greatest full dive MMORPG featuring a zombie apocalypse, Zomi-zona, released. Zomi Apocalypso! I obtained the first ticket. Yes, I said a ticket. This game is full dive, one server, one time play per server reset. Any player that dies in the game is removed from the server and retina scan locked from playing until the server resets. Cryo-stasis time is three days, though the player will experience a possible life-time due to time-dilation.

There’s no character selection. The game transfers your body’s data. Every player is themselves, no disguises, no catfishing, no only girls when online! You can’t even play this at home, you have to use Other-World’s dive stations in select locations throughout the country. They have a warehouse in Dallas where they put your body in cryostasis gel incorporating microscopic enhancement robots. If you don’t die, in-game of course, you can literally spend a life-time in the world. But I said that already. An entire life in a zombie apocalypse though!

Let’s go! So, I got to the center and the staff was so kind. The line moved fast and efficiently.

The method of playing this game made some people sus. Not me. I mean, people go into stasis all the time for all sorts of reasons. Since the discovery of brain active stasis with time dilation people have been able to live in any world for any purpose. The technology has made everyone’s lives so much better because of the magnified research time. But I’m not smart or a researcher. I’m a survivor.

In I went, right in the tube. It only felt cold for a moment because I went under quick. And before I knew it, bam, a simulation of Arizona in the late 1990s. I opened my eyes. There I was.

The radio played with reports of the spreading illness. The infected were rampaging through the cities as government radio told everyone to keep indoors. I checked my body, arms, legs. I found decent physique, good muscle. This was the reason I started working out, this game. Strength and cardio were key to survival. A map and some address cards on a nearby desk indicated a rural spawn location outside Tuscon.

Car keys. Heck yeah.

The television volume didn’t seem threatening. All the windows were closed. I was sated, hydrated, in perfect health, and most importantly, young. The one allowance to this game was the ability to shave a year off your age in game for every three hundred dollars extra. I took a deep breath as I went through my starter home to see what treasures I could find. There was a full pork chop and a pan of cooked lasagna in the fridge, an eggplant, and a bag of fries with a carton of ice cream in the freezer. Shelves contained a few cans of carrots and one big bag of sugar. Then there were plates, endless plates. But no silverware? Honestly the developers could do better than this. I dug Neapolitan ice cream out of the carton with a plate and ate. It tasted so good, so cold on the tongue.

It wasn’t hot in here. I saw the thermostat, starter house had central air. If only there was a second floor and not so many windows. Speaking of which, I closed all the curtains. This wasn’t going to be my long-term base but I’d stick around a bit unless something happened. Running off to Tucson or Phoenix in the early game would not be part of plan. This wasn’t a sprint; it was a marathon. Time to take inventory.

No container in my starter house was left unturned. I searched with impunity as not so much as a groan could be heard from outside. I found a fanny pack, a stick of beef jerky, summer clothes, and a box of adhesive band-aids with on bandage left, nothing that could be used as a weapon. I didn’t even see a car. Time to risk going outside.

The heat! The dry merciless heat and sharp beating sun hit me like a brick to the face. I hadn’t been prepared for Arizona heat and I’m from Dallas! I thought dry heat meant it would be endurable. I felt like my tongue dried up the moment I took a breath.

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There it was, tucked out of sight. An old ford pick-up truck that looked like it was on its last legs. I crept to the door and peered in the window. The key fit the lock. It could be out of gas, but since I didn’t plan to travel, that engine wasn’t going to summon every undead within a hundred-meter radius. Sometimes vehicles had just enough gas to start and create a loud roar that summoned the dead before they stalled.

I already had a friend strolling over to say high anyway. He stood about six feet tall, pale, hollow eyes, salivating and groaning as his arms hung down. Easy stuff. First survey your surroundings to make sure nothing is coming from behind. Next, face the enemy. Third, give it a good push until it falls over. One, nothing. Okay, two. Come on! Three. It can be a bit infuriating when they refuse knockdown. But once down, curb stomp it in the face until the skull chamber pops.

A slick pop followed my first kill. The smell hit like nothing I had imagined. This was full immersion. I wanted to puke. I didn’t think the smell would be a thing until there were piles of them. It smelt like a skunk took a bath in cow diarrhea. My nose, my poor suffering nose. Why did the developers make them smell so freaking bad? The retching of ice cream mixed with stomach acid pushed at my throat as I turned away for fresh air.

The bed of the truck had a tire iron.

I grabbed the slim metal because I had to steel my nerves. A few more friends heard my earlier struggle. They moseyed on over to take a gander at my brand-new tire iron. The tag from Auto-Motion still stuck to the shimmering zinc plating. Sure, it’s no baseball bat, but batter-up! The tire iron has a specific strategy for optimum use that requires strength and aim. You want to bring it down over the top of the skull with enough force to bash through it. Sometimes it takes a few hits. If you’re at low strength, it’s always better to get the zomi on the ground, but you can’t do that too easily when there’s more than two.

I bashed away while walking backwards around my starter house. Making a safe area was my primary concern, but there was a big hole in my strategy. I trusted the rules. I trusted Other-World to run a fair game. I trusted the No PVP clause.

The roar of a turbo-charged diesel pick-up truck in the distance distracted the deads. Only the stragglers remained at my door, three that I had no trouble beating to a second death. I gripped the steely tire iron in my hand as the Arizona heat baked the blood stains into a dried powder.

Dehydration already gripped my throat. The roar increased. The diesel engine became overpowering. The big pick-up with high wheels appeared at the top of a far hill. I watched in awe as I heard the sound of a shotgun blast. Somebody hit the motherload and felt being an idiot was affordable. They were so loud, I almost didn’t hear the young woman tied with bungee cords to the hood. Her sneakers kicked just behind the intimidating horned animal ornament glaring from the very front. Ripped stockings covered her legs.

Role-players. I wanted to face palm. But the young woman with her turquoise hair and fair skin caught my attention. Jean shorts, a loose white-t-shirt, and a green summer jacket graced a captivatingly pretty figure. Someone had great taste in avatars. She had a mystical girl next door vibe, or she would have if she wasn’t squirming and yelling. They had taken the time to cover the hood to keep from burning her. Role-players.

But wait a minute. Nobody in this game had the chance to choose an avatar. Didn’t that mean… a gamer girl! A real honest to goodness gamer girl who wanted to survive the zomi apocalypse. And she needed help. No, this was roleplay, if I got involved, they’d just accuse me of being a white knight and then it would be my problem for the rest of the game. I didn’t want that. But their little roleplay could get her killed for real. For real in the game. No. Nope. No way. No how. Not going to interfere or get involved. I about had it. I’m getting out here because this quiet cul-de-sac would be zomi central thanks to these buffoons who can’t take the zomi apocalypse seriously!

The vehicle pulled forward and came to a harsh stop that caused the back of the girl’s head to hit the window. That was harsh. This game was a full immersive experience and that meant pain and permanent in-game injury came with the package. Plus, it was against the rules to harm or cause intentional trauma to another player. I would know. I read the entire terms of service twice. Some fat red neck looking guy smiled at me before his sawed off shot gun pointed in my direction.

“Yeah, player killing is against terms of service!” I shouted, “A hoard is approaching right behind you and in front of you! I’m out of here!”

The girl cried. She kicked even though the zombies were still closing in from the houses. I saw her mouth move. I swore she pleaded for help. But I had my own problems. This neighborhood had gone bad quick and more than enough noticed me on their way to the vehicle. It was time to run away.

Or that’s what I would have done. Something loud blasted. A sharp pain went through my torso. My fingers ran over my chest. It wasn’t zomi blood. Everything went black.

My eyes opened. My face slammed into hot metal. A sharp thin tightness bit my ankles, then my wrists. I coughed blood. It ran into the metal floor of the pick-up bed as I felt the truck accelerate with a roar.

This was a pure violation of terms of service. This was an illegal player killing. Surely the game would be reset. Surely, the violators would lose access to the world. Surely, it would be okay. Surely, surely, surely this was a fair game.

I coughed blood until a fat hand began wrapping duct tape around my head. The honor of being one of the first trophies taken by the player collectors was mine.

This was how I died in Zomi-zona. But I never woke up. I never went back to the dive center. I remained here, dead. This is my story.