Chapter 5: Entering the Wilds

We agreed we had done enough thinking and needed to start doing. This was after considering an unheard-of option for gamers, which was doing nothing. But that was dismissed by a very simple statement.

“I’m thirsty.”

Miguel had taken another drink from his canteen, which was actually just a leather bladder, very much in keeping with my burlap outfit and his cotton rags and dilapidated quiver. It was a strange action, considering we weren’t really “here.” And when I asked about it, he responded that he was thirsty.

It may sound simple, but feeling thirst is a pretty advanced state of being. It meant our avatars, which were just poorly dressed versions of ourselves, could feel basic human desires. Even stranger, he said that when he took a drink, his thirst was quenched.

After a twenty-minute discussion about technology, biology, and human anatomy, we agreed that the game could generate physical needs, which demanded physical actions, which were then rewarded by our capsules – in this case via a drinking tube. I confirmed this personally by wiping off Miguel’s digital saliva and taking a drink myself.

It was creepy to picture myself in the matrix, basically cocooned and on life support, but it had to be the case given the simple act of alleviating thirst. And our onset of hunger told us we would soon need food as well, which would inevitably only be found beyond the safety of our invisible barrier.

This was easier said than done. When living a game also means potentially dying in a game, no decisions are small decisions. Every direction looked the same, but we debated the topic heatedly before I conceded that my lack of initial consciousness meant I shouldn’t get a vote.

Miguel was confident civilization was north and was certain the rising sun was east because no game programmer would violate celestial mechanics. We actually couldn’t think of any exceptions.

Finally, before setting off, we collected anything we thought might be of any use. After a lot of scouring, this proved to be two canteens (I finally found mine), one quiver (the game read his mind and knew he was always a rogue), one ridiculous wooden sword (I was always a knight), and a handful of rocks in the hope that our first antagonists would be Level 1 angry rabbits.

We had managed to laugh at our pitiful supplies, which was crucial because in a survival RPG, joy was inevitably a long way off. Things would be numerous levels of awful before they became remotely okay.

We took small steps north, side by side, waiting to cross the invisible line that exposed us to risk for the first time. Of course, there was no real way to know where that line was, so we held our breath indefinitely, tiptoeing through an imaginary minefield. After a few minutes of dodging branches and seeing our HUDs pop up every time a twig cracked, we loosened up – as much out of annoyance as confidence.

Soon, a path appeared, more stone than mud, the well-trodden earth glowing softly in the emerging dawn. I glanced to my right and saw that the forest had thinned, exposing a jagged horizon slicing across a familiar yellow sun. At least the game developers hadn’t messed with that. There would almost definitely be two moons to remind us we were in a fantasy world, but anything other than a single sun would have been overkill. Plus, the lighting and ray tracing would have been murder on the programmers.

After an hour of pondering both the aesthetics and the logistics of the world around me, a low growl sent my head swiveling to my left, where I saw the first signs of life since arriving.

It was not angry rabbits.

A single beast stood twenty yards from the road, staring at us with narrow red eyes that indicated we were not going to be friends. And judging by the size of it, it wasn’t a Level 1 anything. More concerning was that I didn’t know what the "anything" was.

Miguel and I both stopped instinctively, scanning the creature for any familiarity. It looked part massive hyena, part jungle cat. Black matted fur stood on its back, and two double rows of razor-sharp teeth glistened in the morning sun.

“I’m sure it looks scarier than it is,” Miguel assured me.

“I would hope so. I’m basically armed with rocks and a stick, and that’s doesn’t look like a ‘starter enemy.’ Also,” I continued, “didn’t you say you saw wolves, giants, and demons in the opening cut scene?”

“Yeah,” he responded.

“Well, that should be the order of encounter. We start with some wimpy wolves and work our way up. Slowly.”

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“I’ll be sure to mention that when the Hell Panther starts trying to eat my face,” he said, clearly hoping his sarcasm would somehow pacify his fear.

I was more impressed at how quickly and perfectly he had named a new mythical creature.

“I’m just trying to get a handle on the game,” I responded. “This is off, and if the world breaks simple rules like that, then…”

I stopped short as the beast closed the twenty yards between us in two seconds flat, leaping directly at Miguel’s face.

He was a really good guesser.

I reached for my sword as Miguel instinctively crossed his forearms to block the attack. Blue sparks flashed as a shield briefly appeared between him and the beast, draining Miguel’s Magicka completely and taking two thirds of his Health. The battle hadn’t even truly begun, and Miguel was dangerously close to death.

The Hell Panther fell between us, stunned but barely injured. Its Health bar was the size of ours combined. Intro enemy my ass.

I swung my sword downward, landing a blow on its back, again barely putting a dent in its Health. But at least getting its attention. I could see Miguel behind it, searching for a weapon of any kind while his Magicka and Health slowly refilled.

Emphasis on slowly.

The Hell Panther began to circle, eying me with hunger, not caution. I gave a few more waves of my sword, striking only air, but maintaining the distance between us.

Intent on taking advantage of that space, I pointed my left palm forward, hoping my Magicka bar meant I had some sort of introductory spell: bolt of lightning, stream of frost, funnel of fire. Instead, a marble-sized ember fell pitifully from my hand, reaching only halfway to my target that was three feet away.

The tiny ember sat there between us, a visual reminder of the enormous gap between our powers. The Panther seemed to grin, flashing its seventy-two teeth just before lunging again, this time at my throat.

I raised my sword just in time, lodging it between the beast’s jaws. While in scale it looked like a chew toy, my wooden sword withstood the bite with impressive fortitude. As we grappled, I capitalized on the Panther’s awkwardness on two legs, pushing forward and throwing my weight on top of his.

It landed on its back with a yelp, which I didn’t understand until I saw the smoke, my ember slowly burning through its fur and searing its flesh. It tried to roll over, but I held tight, pushing its head back with my sword and exposing a belly that briefly flashed pink. Before I could determine what the color meant, I saw sweeping arms plunge a stone dagger into the vulnerable spot.

With that, a howl of pain split the air, and then all fell silent.

I rolled away from the bloody animal, watching the crimson liquid pool on the ground beneath us. I was disgusted, relieved, and wracked with guilt – a combination I could not recall ever encountering in gaming. Miguel fell back the other way, his twisted face showing the same emotions.

Killing things was 90% of a lot of video games, but I had never once felt like a murderer.

That had changed.

“You okay,” I managed.

“Uninjured,” Miguel responded after a few deep breaths.

I looked over and saw the proof as his Health bar hit full and disappeared.

My heart still racing, my HUD showed equally full bars, but now it also displayed progress on the top right. A white bar filled once, cycled, and filled halfway again. I was now Level 2.

“Did you level up?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Miguel said, still sounding more relieved than excited. “Just inched into Level 3.”

That made sense. He had administered the killing blow, and combat didn’t necessarily distribute XP equally. I was actually glad to have received any considering how little damage I did, before remembering my little ember’s role in all of this.

Regardless, we had survived our first encounter. It was exactly nothing like what first fights should be, but at least it was over. I hoped we could find some small beetles or evil butterflies to grind out the next few levels. We needed some infinitely safer XP harvesting before another encounter like that.

After a few silent minutes, I stood and stepped forward, beginning our trek north once again.

“Hey,” Miguel called. “You gonna loot this, or what?”

The visceral experience of fighting for my life had caused me to forget the basic rules of gaming: kill something, get something. Anything bipedal probably had gold, potions, or weapons. Animals tended to be skins or food, especially in a survival game.

The thought of it made me gag.

“You’re the one with the sword,” Miguel stated flatly. “This rock is the medieval equivalent of safety scissors. I’m surprised it went in at all.”

He made a valid point, but the idea of slowly dismembering something rather than heatedly stabbing it made me nauseated.

“Dude, it’s way too real. I can’t. I’ll throw up,” I said, meaning it.

“Heroes don’t throw up.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I had never seen a hero, in films or games, projectile vomit. But I didn’t feel like a hero at that moment. I felt ashamed of my fear and my triumph.

“Seriously, I understand,” Miguel said reassuringly. “I felt its ribs and flesh give way to my ‘dagger,’ which is not something any game can mimic. And it’s not a type of haptic feedback I would want even if it could. But as realistic as this feels, it is just a game.

This time those hated words brought comfort.

Yes. Just a game.

I shook the cobwebs from my head.

“Any idea how I do this?” I asked.

“Sword down the middle, like every other game I assume. Or, I guess it could be Red Dead.”

I felt like vomiting again. The carving motion employed by one game in particular, as well as the squishing sound it made every time you skinned an animal, made me want to become a digital vegan.

Miguel saw my discomfort.

“We need pelts, right?” Miguel said, pulling his blunt stone from the beast. “I don’t know when or how the crafting will start, but we both know that it will. Loot, and let’s go.”

Deep breath.

I sliced my wooden sword along the exposed abdomen, and fortunately a perfect animal pelt came free, looking more like a black fleece than animal hide. Sitting inside the chest cavity were two classic morsels of meat, which I wrapped in the fleece and threw over my shoulder. As I did, the Hell Panther disappeared, a comforting reminder that this was – at least in some ways – just a game.