The sun was too bright.
Robin squinted, blinked, felt something pull at the skin of her face, and squinted again to make sure she hadn’t imagined it. She sat up, felt fresh grass shift beneath her, and touched her face. She was wearing a mask. It covered from temple to temple across her eyes, held by some adhesive that allowed for movement despite the drag. The material it was made of might have been metal, plastic, rubber, or some combination of all three; her fingers couldn’t tell which.
Whatever it was, she had not been wearing it when she went to sleep, nor had she worn the fingerless gloves that now covered her hands. She didn’t even own fingerless gloves. Actually, she couldn’t remember going to sleep either. Her body felt odd, tingly-numb and lighter, with the weight shifted to odd places. She looked down.
Those are new, she thought, staring at the red hoodie and jeans that covered solid curves and a defined bosom. Then it finally registered that she was sleeping in an open field with no memory of how she got there, and her head snapped up to investigate her surroundings.
“What the fuck,” she said out-loud.
She was not the only one.
All around her, dozens — no, hundreds — of people were likewise waking up. They were scattered across the neat lawn and pristine sidewalks of a huge public park, with only a few feet of space between each prone form. Some lucky souls were laid across benches or under trees. Others had been dumped onto the hard concrete, into branches, or atop garbage piles. Nearly all wore masks, some over the mouth and nose, others across the eyes, and those who didn’t had tiaras or scarves or other elaborate headgear that called attention away from the face.
In the near distance, gleaming skyscrapers rose over treetops and fountains, stretching up into an endlessly clear blue sky. Their lines formed the edges of the park, and Robin knew that if she stood and looked, they would come together at three points, forming a triangle.
She knew, because only a few meters from where she lay, the grass became sidewalk leading to a fountain, which likewise formed an equilateral triangle in the dead center of the park. Atop a dais in the center of this fountain stood a golden statue of three towering figures, each facing out with their backs to one another and their shoulders touching.
The first, facing mostly north, hid his face beneath a sandogasa hat and his body in a dramatically flowing cape. The second, looking south, was a woman in a blindfold holding a pair of scales, her other hand extended to welcome all who approached. And the third man, turned due east to greet the rising sun, stood tall and broad with his cape tossed back, handsome face shining with a thousand-watt smile. The living symbol of hope and justice himself.
Robin knew these figures. Knew their names at a glance: Shadowman. Lady Justice. And the Beacon.
The Golden Trio.
She knew this place, too. Knew it as intimately as her own bedroom.
She was in Golden Ratio Park. The heart of the Golden City, home to the International Assembly of Heroes and starting spawn-point for all new players of The Golden Age.
But this wasn’t like playing the game. There was no sense of sitting at her computer or steering her character through the hard plastic and tough rubber of the haptic rig. No. Here, she could feel the grass, taste the air, smell the metallic tinge of water through the fountain’s pipes.
It was all real. This world was all real.
She and all the hundreds of people around her had really, truly entered the world of The Golden Age.
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THE GOLDEN AGE.
A hugely popular massively-multiplayer online role-playing game, perhaps the most popular to ever deviate from the juggernaut genre of high fantasy.
Released six years ago for the cutting-edge VR PC, its haptic interface transports players into a world of adventure, where anyone and everyone can become a true hero.
But that transportation was supposed to be metaphorical. A figurative escape, not a literal one.
Until now.
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“THE HELL KIND OF SICK JOKE IS THIS??”
The roar from sight unseen carried over the crowd, sparking off a wave of similar cries and smaller shocks of confusion as the waking players caught their wits. The one unfortunate guy who’d been laid out at the feet of Lady Justice startled to full consciousness and fell straight into the fountain. People were on their feet now, but most were preoccupied by the state of their own bodies, stumbling on unfamiliar feet and tracing the edges of their masks.
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“Let’s all just calm down…”
“Don’t you tell me to calm down, you son of a bitch! I want to know what the hell is going on and how the fu—”
Robin rolled away from the argument and into a low crouch. There was a backpack laying in the grass beside her. She picked it up and dug through, finding a smartphone in the outside pocket. Its fingerprint scanner responded to her touch and brought the flat screen to life. Turning on its camera app confirmed her suspicions: the masked face looking back at her was that of a teenage tomboy, her brown hair cut in a bob with a streak of red in the bangs over her right eye.
It wasn’t the exact face she remembered crafting in the character creation screen. It was too imperfect, too real, as though her natural features were seeping up through layers of programmed perfection. But it was close enough to be sure: she had become the character she created for that game.
Before she could search further, an alert dominated her screen. Phones all around her sounded the same three-note chime. So did speakers on the nearby buildings and those hanging from the blimp that had drifted over the park. Screens turned on in hands, along walls and upon blimp’s rubber side, flashing the logo of a coin stamped with a globe and the words BREAKING NEWS.
It held their attention for the opening riff of a theme song before giving way to the lovely face of Lori L’Amour, star reporter of the Sterling News Network and known love interest of the Beacon. Her well-trained look of neutral confidence couldn’t hide the concerned tremble in her voice.
“This is an emergency broadcast from SNN, with updates on the mysterious situation that has gripped our heroic community.” Her cobalt eyes flickered away from the camera long enough to acknowledge her teleprompter. “We’ve just received word that the estimated thirty-thousand people across the world who fell suddenly unconscious last night have begun to revive. As previously reported, all known victims of this unprecedented disaster are confirmed heroic aspirants registered with the I.A.H.”
I.A.H. stood for the International Assembly of Heroes, a self-governing body for those extraordinary individuals who would call themselves super-heroes. In the world of the game, it was illegal to operate as a hero without their approval, to the point that character creation was themed to represent the I.A.H. registration process.
“Emergency responders were advised against moving or examining any victims but, according to eye-witness reports, none of those previously rendered unconscious seem to be suffering from any physical ailment. The only reported symptoms at this time are purely psychological: confusion, anger and dread.” Lori L’Amour glanced down at something on her desk, tapping at unseen buttons. “We now take you live to the official statement being made by the I.A.H., courtesy of their spokesman, who needs no introduction.”
The broadcast cut to a tall, broad man floating before a wall of windows that looked down upon a distant Planet Earth. He was impossibly, inhumanly handsome, with square jaw full of perfect teeth and a warm, golden complexion. His blond hair was artfully wind-swept and his long white cape fluttered in an unseen breeze.
Despite everything, the tension seeped Robin in something like relief. Of course. In times of trouble, it could be no one but The Beacon.
In the lore of the game, The Beacon had been one of the first heroes to appear during a “time of great turmoil” at the turn of the millennium. He fought alongside other extraordinary people to bring stability to the whole world, eventually founding the International Assembly of Heroes. Soon after, the I.A.H. received a prophecy foretelling an exponential rise of evil still to come. Thus, the Beacon shown his great light into every corner of the world, awakening in all humanity the raw potential to gain superpowers through their actions and become heroes in turn.
It was the in-universe explanation for the Powers system, one of the game’s most popular features. The Beacon was the central mascot of The Golden Age, leader of the I.A.H., and the most widely-beloved hero among players and non-player characters alike. So of course the world would turn to him for answers.
He gazed out from every screen and offered the entire planet a reassuring smile.
“Good people of the world — my fellow heroes most of all — I am here today to assure you that this incident is not a disaster. It might have been, but it has been overcome.
“Here are the facts as you know them: thirteen hours ago, a huge swath of our second-generation heroes fell asleep. Yes, asleep. And while they slept, our protectors and companions dreamed a long, impossible dream. A shared dream, one which contained entire lives. Thousands of them. A whole other world.
“It is our belief that this dream was the intent of the whole incident, a trap designed to lock our heroes within their own minds. The responsible party, their full reasons, and their means for doing so remain a mystery. But, as you can see, they have been overcome.
“I ask for our fellow citizens’ compassion and understanding at this time. No doubt, our heroes will be disoriented; they have lived entire lives, only to return without warning. You have my word that the International Assembly of Heroes shall devote all of our time and resources to counseling and investigation, to better ease the transition and to that nothing like this will ever happen again.
“And to the heroes who have awoken in this world — a world that must seem so familiar and yet new — fear not. We have overcome before, and we will overcome again. Remember: allow your true light to shine and there is nothing you cannot do.”
With that and a final smile, the broadcast ended.
“That’s it? That’s bullshit! This can’t be real!”
“They don’t know how we got here…”
“Of course they don’t, they’re stupid NPCs — HEY, ADMIN! GAME MASTER! Log in already I want to lodge a complaint!”
“So we’re just stuck here?”
Someone nearby started to whimper, which soon devolved into a desperate wail. The black girl a few feet away from Robin had crumpled into hysterical sobs. She was one of the few people not wearing a mask, her identity instead guarded by an enchanted tiara; this one silver with a purple gem. It matched her cheerleading outfit, and the streaks in her braided hair.
Despite the noise, no one in the surrounding crowd paid her any mind. They were too preoccupied with their own shock and denial. Robin glanced around, decided no one would pay her much attention either, and slide across the grass to reach the girl’s side.
“Hey,” she said, placing her hand over the girl’s. “I know this is scary, but…You’re going to be okay.”
“You don’t understand,” the girl whimpered, rubbing her face with both hands. “I…I have a job interview tomorrow!” Another sob burst out, alongside a fresh flow of tears. “My first one…in six months…and I-I’m gonna mi-i-iss it!”
Robin winced in sympathy. “Oh, mood,” she muttered, and leaned back to let the girl cry on her shoulder.