Savannah Perry walked up to the security desk at what was called the Backstage Entrance of Karnath’s Crimson Castle, even though this place didn’t actually have a stage. Or maybe, the entire building was a stage. She shrugged her duffel bag off her shoulder and let it drop.
The security guard was pretty thoroughly put together, possibly ex-military, with a jaw so stern he should have a name like Buff Ironchest or something. He fixed her with a gaze intended to intimidate her into giving up her firstborn—not that she had any interest in having children—but she knew how to deal with big egos and pressure-prone bullies. She was an actor.
She turned on her Shakespearean haughtiness. “Savannah Perry. It’s my first day.”
He checked a data pad, then grunted. “Stand there.” He pointed to the pair of yellow footprints painted on the floor.
She did.
“Look at me,” he said
She reflexively obeyed, but couldn’t meet his eyes. The way he looked at her made her skin crawl, made her wonder if he even saw her as a person. She saw similar looks in clubs from dudes who fancied themselves players. She was just a piece of meat to them, a morsel to be devoured. Well, screw that. She made it a point to stick in their craw.
A nearby machine spat out a small, laminated ID card with her name and photo, plus a QR code. He slapped it on the counter between them. “Don’t lose this. It’s how the building knows who you are.”
“The…building?” She scooped up the ID card. The photo was perfect, and she couldn’t even spot the camera.
“Yeah, the building.” He said it like he was talking to a four-year-old, and a stupid one at that.
She leaned onto the counter, accenting her assets. She’d been told to show up in a dance leotard if she had one, so she had, and she was wearing a crimson sweater over it, in honor of the new gig. He glanced down, then back up. She had his attention now and looked him square in the eye. “Eyes are up here, Mr. Sexist Discrimination Suit Waiting to Happen.”
He cleared his throat and clenched that anvil-like jaw.
“Where do I find the dressing room?” she asked.
His lips pursed. “Down that hallway. First door on the right.”
She picked up her duffel bag and turned to go, then paused. “Thanks. Oh, and bite me, you condescending prick,” she said, with all the disdain she could muster. And that was a lot of disdain. She had played Shakespeare’s Richard III for her senior thesis in college, and if she could convincingly turn a five-foot-eleven statuesque redhead into a hunchbacked English king, she could put this misogynistic douche in his place. She sashayed through the door he’d indicated, which led into a black-painted hallway that smelled of liniment, deodorant, and a kind of rubber smell, like wetsuits or latex makeup appliances. It felt like a backstage.
But when she found the women’s dressing room, it looked nothing like any she’d ever seen before. There was a bank of vanity mirrors and lights, but no makeup, no costumes, no frantic last-minute preparations before a performance.
Mere moments later, a man’s voice from right behind her yanked a yelp of surprise out of her. “Oh, good, you’re here. And on time! Good, very good.”
She spun to face an Asian man about six inches shorter than her. His shaved pate accented an oddly shaped head, symmetrical but almost wedge-shaped. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. An ill-fitting gray suit draped his narrow frame like a sack.
“I’m Julius Himura. You may call me Mr. Himura. Are you ready for a walk-through of procedures? Your assigned scenario party is already suiting up.” He sounded annoyed with her, even though she had arrived twenty minutes before she’d been told to. “This will be somewhat rushed, I’m afraid. You’ll have to get your feet wet in-game.”
“Yeah, your HR person just called me a couple of hours ago. I’m happy to be here though.” Anytime a fledgling actor could find work was a good thing. She was a gamer, too, which was probably why she’d gotten the job. She once made a “cursed” social media video series in which she’d concocted and eaten a disgusting series of recipes—mayonnaise, applesauce, and steak sauce popsicle anyone?—to help her raise money for a new gaming computer. She knew what Karnath’s Crimson Castle was, because who didn’t?
Himura made a clicking noise, then led her to a mirror and stool where a folded gamesuit, gauntlets, and visor rested. She couldn’t suppress a grin, excited to meld her two passions, acting and gaming, and actually get a livable wage for it. This could be a job that supported her for a while. It actually came with benefits, something that was all but unheard of for actors at her level of career. “Have you watched the orientation videos?” he asked. He had a strange, humming way of speaking, as if he were inserting m-sounds where they didn’t belong.
She was a stickler for prepping. “My job is to play the part of one of the NPCs. The game will show the players a whole new me. To them, I’ll look like my character, even if I’m a monster or something.”
“Correct. I—”
Savannah’s disrobing brought him up short. She shucked her sweater, leaving her clad in sports bra and leotard covering her bottom half, then grabbed the gamesuit and began to slide her limbs into it.
Himura cleared his throat. “Yes, ahem.” At least he had the courtesy to look away. “There is no need to learn any lines, only play your role in the moment. Think of this as interactive theater.”
“Improv.”
“Mmm, yes, however, your visor will sometimes feed you your lines and direction, based on how your character would behave, information she knows, and how to respond in a given situation.” Then his eyes grew hard. “If you deviate from the proscribed dialogue and direction, you will be removed from the scenario and subject to disciplinary action, or even dismissal. The Gamemaster’s guidance of any given scenario is quite precise, and the Founder has the utmost faith in the GM. Am I understood?”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Got it,” Savannah said, zipping her gamesuit, smoothing out her frown. She disliked being talked to like she was twelve. “So, the Founder, Mr. Marquand, any chance I could meet him?” She was curious about this infamous, billionaire recluse.
“Perhaps that might be arranged, but first you have a role to prepare for. You’re going to be with a Ruby Ticket group, so this role will last as long as they remain in the game.”
“You mean, like, forever?”
“That is highly unlikely. No Ruby Ticket holders have gone more than fifty-two hours, but that would include sleeping, meals, et cetera. I’m told it can be grueling to be in character for so long, and one never knows what stranger avenues the GM might construct for you. I’ll reiterate that it is imperative that you follow direction.”
“I understand.”
“I do have something for you.” From his suit pocket he withdrew a pendant on a chain. Her first thought was that it looked like some cheap trinket, but as she accepted it, it was far heavier than it looked. “A gift from Mr. Marquand. It’s made of star metal.”
“You mean like…meteorite?”
Himura nodded. “Consider it a good luck charm.”
“Wow, thanks!” Metal from a real meteorite was amazingly cool, and would probably be worth something if she lost the job. At first glance, the pendant looked like a simple metal disc, about the size and thickness of a poker chip, but as she looked closer, she saw subtle patterns in the metal, almost like wood grain, if wood grain could be shaped into something that resembled characters or runes. She had a moment of confusion from an inability to identify the colors. As if the rune’s true, complete shape was three-dimensional and hidden in the surrounding metal. Pretty, in an odd sort of way. She draped it over her head, flipped her long, red ponytail loose, and zipped up the pendant inside her suit. She couldn’t even tell the pendant was there.
Then she put on the gauntlets and visor and felt the suit come alive over the surface of her body. Sensations weird and wonderful rippled over her, as if she’d just plunged into blissfully warm water that immediately shifted to other substances and temperatures, like the touch of many fingers. On one hand, creepy, but once she got used to it…titillating. With the right programming in a suit like this, they could make millions—no, billions—on the adult toys market.
As the visor came online, she blinked at the sight of Himura. He stood two inches taller than her now and looked like one of those handsome Japanese actors she’d seen in a Godzilla movie. He gave her a smirk. “You see the power of the visor.” With the headphones cupping her ears, he even sounded different now, his voice deeper, richer.
“Uh, yeah!” she said. “That’s amazing!” She looked down at herself and saw she was now wearing a Victorian era dress of pale silk and lace. “You said this is a Victorian-era story?”
Himura nodded.
“But this dress is more Regency era.” She knew her costuming.
A new voice emerged from thin air, Meryl Streep’s voice. “The answer to that question will become clear as you study your character’s back story.”
She flinched and looked around for the source of the voice, but there was only her and Himura. Then she nodded. “That was the GM, wasn’t it.”
“Yes,” said the voice. “I am the Gamemaster. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Perry.”
“Uh, likewise.” Savannah shook hands awkwardly with an imaginary person. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
“Your audition was stellar,” the GM said.
“Thanks,” Savannah said. It had been tough auditioning via telepresence, unsure whom she was actually talking to at the time. This job would be a great opportunity to test her chops, though. She wanted to a serious actor, not a fluff girl or a porn actress. She was still smarting over being propositioned on Spring Break outside a club in Fort Lauderdale to do a Girls Gone Crazy shoot. She’d given the two dudes the finger, at which point they’d called her every foul name in the misogynist lexicon. Later that night, she’d snuck back and slashed all four tires of their van.
But this job, she needed this job. Most roles she’d found were community theater and the occasional local television commercial. But this one would be a serious feather in her cap. It was a chance to play a thousand roles, even as she had be in character at the drop of a hat, and also sustain that character through the vicissitudes of player behavior, some of whom would absolutely do what they could to break the game. Those kinds of players just wanted to sow chaos and watch the game scramble to keep up. She’d played in a couple of D&D groups since middle school and tons of online stuff, and there was always one player like that, a griefer.
Himura cleared his throat. “GM will guide you from here. If you’ll excuse me.” He departed without acknowledging Savannah further.
When he was gone, she said, “So, Gamemaster, you seem friendlier than the humans who work here.”
The amusement was clear in the GM’s voice. “I endeavor to work well with humans. I am vastly better at multitasking than humans.”
“So tell me about my character.”
At that moment, a tall, well-built man wearing his gamesuit and visor sauntered into the dressing room, barely registering her presence.
“Hey,” she said by way of greeting.
He paused, turning the bug-eyed goggles toward her. His eyes were invisible behind them, but she could tell from the lower half of his face that he had an actor’s handsomeness, wondering why Himura had been displaying an avatar in her visor, but not this guy.
“I’m new,” she said. “Savannah.” She extended a hand.
He shook it, hesitantly, as if a little confused. “Thompson.”
“Is that a first or last name?” she asked, throwing in a touch of flirtation.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m just coming on shift. Are you in ‘The Blighted Mansion’ mission?”
“Uh…” she said. She hadn’t read the mission brief yet.
The Gamemaster said, “Savannah is playing the part of Anastasia Delacroix, Armand’s twin sister.”
He nodded in acknowledgment, then he made some control gestures, and suddenly he stood before her in the guise of a young man in a Regency-era suit with shoulder-length blond curls, handsome if a little on the frail side. “Why, hello, sister,” he said in the creepiest voice imaginable. The details of the expression and the face, even micro-expressions, were simply phenomenal, even though the face she was seeing was not the man’s real face. “Don’t you look simply smashing this evening.”
Savannah stood and curtsied, applying her best blue-blooded New England accent. “Why, thank you, dear brother. I could say the same of you.”
He stepped closer the took her hand, and for a moment she forgot the gauntlets were there. His touch felt as warm and natural as human flesh. She stared at their clasped hands, stunned by the technological magic on display. He stepped closer, and she could smell his cologne, but some other scent lurked beneath, something less attractive, a rancid sourness like meat gone bad. But she could only imagine what a rubber suit smelled like after someone spent a hot, sweaty day in it. He seemed to be studying her, but from within the visor, her eyes couldn’t discern the difference between reality and avatar.
She stepped away. “Sorry. It’s so…convincing. It’s disconcerting.”
“That’s a good word,” he said. “You get used to it, though. See you ‘back at the house,’ sis.” He saluted her, paused to grab a bottle of water from a refrigerator near the door, and departed, chugging it.
The GM asked, “You’ve watched the orientation videos about how the game system works?”
Savannah shook her head to shed the prior interaction. “Yup. One thing I’m still fuzzy on, though. Does my character work on the same rules as the players? Combat, opposed skills, that kind of thing? What if I want to win? What if Thompson and I have to, I dunno, arm wrestle or something?”
“All characters play by the same rules, with the exception that if your character dies, you do not respawn. You must play your character with their goals firmly in mind. So yes, it is absolutely natural—and preferable—for you to want to ‘win’ on your character’s behalf. Sometimes the players and other characters will be your enemies, sometimes your allies, sometimes both. The gamesuits also have the capability to augment your physical strength.”
“That sounds really cool, actually. I love complex characters.”
“Delighted to hear it. Shall we begin?”