October 1st, 2035

When I logged in to Ferrum Online for the first time, I was sitting inside of a net cafe in downtown Madison, Wisconsin. I had been laid off about two months before, and I had been living in various motels, hostels, or rentals for about two weeks. A few days before, I had learned of a few net cafes in the area that allowed you to stay there overnight for much cheaper than a motel. It was much less comfortable than a motel, but I liked the idea of it. The business model had been imported over from Japan soon after the end of the Three-Year War.

I hadn’t slept too well the night before, so I bought a frozen coffee from a vending machine in the back of the store. While waiting in line, I saw that a “retrospective” on President Sebastian Sutton was running on CNN. Based on the reactions I saw from most people in the netcafe, I could tell that some found the program to be distasteful.

Sebastian Sutton had a strange legacy in my home state. He was the only American president to be born in Wisconsin. Yet, his presidency very nearly caused the end of America. The blame could hardly be placed at his feet, however. It was his assassination that set off the War, after all. He had the kind of power, infamy, and historical significance where it was difficult to view him as a person.

The Three-Year War had taken place from 2028 to 2030. When it started, I was seventeen years old. I was old enough to recognize that something was wrong, but I wasn’t politically sophisticated enough to fully grasp the nature of the problem. Luckily, my home state was mostly untouched. The only real effect the War had on my family was when I got it in my head that I wanted to join a militia. My mom was able to quickly dissuade me of such thoughts.

I was lost in thought thinking about the War when I reached the front of the line. The employee standing behind the counter cleared his throat, and I was brought back to the present.

“Just this, please,” I said as I placed the frozen Starbucks coffee on the counter and took my wallet out of my back pocket.

“Mmm,” the man grunted as he scanned the coffee. He looked me up and down as I passed him my debit card. It was going to expire at the end of the month.

I knew what the employee saw. I was a small man with dark blonde hair the color of straw. I wore glasses with thick rims, and I had walked with a slouch ever since I was thirteen years old. One could be forgiven for incorrectly assuming I was one of those frail academic types, but I had never been a particularly smart person. Math was the only subject in school I was ever good at. I wore a flannel jacket with a fur-lined interior, a graphic T-shirt, and loose-fitting jeans. I had not showered in a few days, but I was fairly certain the attendant could not smell me from where he was standing.

“You’re the guy from cubicle number five, right? Geoffrey Lachlan?” the employee asked.

“Yes, I am,” I said, trying my hardest to not look like a homeless person. Technically I was, but I still had my car and twenty thousand dollars in savings. Plus, I had a promising job interview the next day. I was going to have a new job before I ran out of money, probably.

“Just so you know,” he said, “our company has a policy of only allowing people to reserve seventy-two hours per week. You’ve already used sixty-eight hours this week. Also, if you want to reserve four more hours, the price is double.”

“Double?” I asked. I wondered if this was his way of subtly telling me to get out of his store. “Why’s that?”

“A lot of people are making reservations to play that new MMO that comes out today,” the man said.

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“Hmm,” I exhaled as I turned my head and scratched the small piece of metal that had been embedded in the base of my neck. I had only gotten the surgery done two months before, and it still itched when I thought about it. “You mean Ferrum Online?”

“Oh, I see you have the NIP.” The employee seemed surprised. It made sense. He did think I was a hobo, after all.

“The Neural Interface Port?” I was unaware that it had an acronym. “Yeah, I had it installed pretty recently. I heard really good things about the Kabuto system, and I wanted to try it out.”

“You gonna play Ferrum when it comes out?” the employee asked with a smile. He wore the unmistakable expression of a fan who wanted badly to talk about the object of his affection.

“I’ve already bought the game, and I’m downloading it onto my laptop as we speak,” I said truthfully.

“Cool,” he said, “I’m gonna log in as soon as my shift’s over. Which Path do you think you’ll take?”

“Path?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

“At level twenty, you unlock a ‘Path.’ It’s basically the game’s class system. They say there’ll be twelve fully fleshed out Paths, but they’ve only revealed three: Blood, Mystery, and Divinity. The Path of Blood is for tank builds, the Path of Mystery is for magic builds, and the Path of Divinity is for healer builds. My goal when I play today is to reach level twenty.”

“Cool,” I said, not really listening, “I’ll make sure to keep that in mind when I reach level twenty. Now that I’m here, I feel like I should probably reserve those last four hours. At double price, that’s… what… forty bucks?”

“Eh, you seem like a stand-up guy,” the employee said. “You can stay here until nightfall free of charge. Though, you can’t stay here tonight. Boss’s orders.”

“I understand,” I said as I picked up my iced coffee. “Thanks.”

I had started walking back to my cubicle when he said, “Hey, if you log out before my shift ends, tell me about the game.”

“Will do,” I said over my shoulder with a smile.

It was only a twenty-yard walk to my cubicle. The place I had been residing in for the past two days measured four feet by eight feet. It barely had enough space for me to lay down. The only things inside the cubicle were a sleeping bag, a beanbag chair, a backpack, a desk which I could slide my legs under, and a laptop.

I slid the door to my cubicle closed and sat on the sleeping bag with my back to the beanbag chair. I slid my legs under the desk and looked at my laptop’s screen. The game had finished downloading, and a notification blinked on my screen.

Ferrum Online is now playable.

I took a cord and hooked it to my Neural Interface Port. Connecting with the computer through the port was a strange sensation. I was acutely aware that the biomechanical machine that was my central nervous system was interfacing with the computer. If I had been religious or if I had been especially keen on keeping my mind independent of machinery, I would have described it as a negative experience. As I am, however, it was neither a positive nor negative experience. It felt like a new tool had been installed in my head for me to utilize, and tools are neither good nor bad until they’re utilized.

I placed the Kabuto device atop my head and inserted a separate plug into it. The Kabuto device was shaped like a helmet, and it covered the user’s eyes and ears. The device didn’t actually interface with the sensory organs. Rather, the purpose of the coverage was to prevent confusion. The Kabuto system interfaces directly with the brain, but the user can still see or hear. It would be confusing if you were to hear the outside world while also hearing the audio of the game. The Kabuto device itself just serves as a secondary computing system. It handles the programs that allow the human brain to interface with the game. Technically, you don’t actually have to wear the Kabuto device while you play, but doing so minimizes the risk of interference.

A short line of text appeared on the screen inside of my visor.

Would you like to play Ferrum Online?

I reached up and clicked the accept button on the side of the Kabuto device. For the first and last time, I experienced the full dive.