They say the human mind cannot create new faces in dreams, that each person you encounter is someone you have actually met or seen before. Even if you don’t recall these people, somewhere deep in your brain that information existed and was used to give you an experience.
You can never really remember a dream for very long, unless you write them down of course, whether the experience was positive or negative that feeling also dissipates. It’s quite common to not remember the dream at all, some people even say they have stopped dreaming entirely. Is not having a memory of something the same as having not experienced it?
*squelch*
Damp is the word that comes to mind, I was sure I opened my eyes yet everything is still black. The low hum of rainfall outside my window blessed my ears with a symphony of white noise. Peeling back the curtains in reach I confirmed that the window was indeed securely sealed.
So why is my face wet?
I found it hard to decide which was more tragic, waking up in a pile of drool or waking up having cried without remembering why. The true tragedy was discovering how many hours I had lost due to not setting an alarm, I’m not nocturnal on purpose I swear.
Staggering out of the room in my zombified state I skip washing my face and unlock the balcony door. Mini waterfalls streamed from the corrugated roof sheets, forming a curtain to obscure me from the outside world. Lighting a cigarette I stared out into the storm, eyes tracing the cars commuting, their lights dancing like fireflies across the townscape.
Putting out the cigarette, I head back inside to my desk. After briefly checking emails and when I was working next, I brought up the Rogue Tale client to begin my chores. Normally I would begin with daily reputation quests for various factions, followed by a few hours of gathering resources, and then something fun like pvp or dungeons. These trivial tasks were mind-numbing in most cases, yet at the same time, they granted me a sense of stability and purpose. The journey to completion was a lengthy road, without proper pacing, it would just lead to burnout.
The session almost began like any other, I was greeted by Rival and our room at the barracks, the key difference being that there were two others in the room. This itself was already borderline impossible, these rooms were private personalised zones. Even subscribed players would be unable to invite friends here, player housing existed for that purpose, dorms were more of a storyline reward tied to your character.
“Aye, the lass rises at last.”
“...”
Two elves sat across from one another at a rounded table on the opposite side of the room. The one to speak was a male high elf, though he could easily have been mistaken for a woman, his eyes matching the fiery ringlets that fell to his waist. The other had deep flushed violet skin and bleached white hair, a woman of the dark elf tribe, silvery grey eyes piercing Rival like she could see me through her. The two strangers wore matching suits, and neither had a nameplate above their heads.
“May we come in?”
I tilt my head at the woman’s question, ask that before entering my room, thanks.
“You’re.. already here, aren’t you?”
“No, we’re at the door, may we come in?”
The dark elf points in the opposite direction of the dorm entry, her finger seemingly directing me to look out the window. The confusion warps into panic when I follow her gaze off the monitor—down the hallway to my apartment's front door.
*Bzzzzzt Bzzzzzzzzt*
After basically falling out of my chair, I timidly approach the front entrance. Cracking open the hardwood inner door reveals a pair of silhouettes behind the locked flyscreen. The left and right hippocampus join hands to translate my current situation into a digestible explanation. Conclusion: I’m still in my bed, rolling around in drool. At the point that you realise you’re dreaming, that’s when you’re supposed to wake up right? Seconds go by at the pace of minutes, yet I’m still here in purgatory.
“Isn’t this the noodle lass?”
A devastating blow from the sleep paralysis demon; handsome men calling me crude nicknames—my only weakness. I’m not allowed time to recover before the other joins in on the assault.
“Huh, it is the noodle girl.”
The searing flame cauterises the wound to prevent recovery; beautiful women calling me crude nicknames—my other only weakness. Suppressing the urge to gag, vertigo strikes like a crashing wave. I attempt to grab hold of the door to steady myself, but I’m already falling.
***
*squelch*
Damp is the word that comes to mind, I was sure I opened my eyes yet everything is still black. The muted buzzing of rainfall outside my window tickled my ears with a cacophony of white noise. As I rise to peel back the curtains something cold and drenched slides off my face, the folds of the hand towel come undone and ice scatters across the tiled floor.
Huh.
I shamble out of my bedroom, first noticing a bag of groceries on the kitchen counter before being blindsided by the warming scent of coffee. Checking the bathroom as I pass, I scan the living room for signs of activity. Muffled voices alert me to the direction of the balcony, where two individuals sit leisurely smoking.
I glance down at my attire consisting of an oversized t-shirt and briefs before coming to an immediate resolution: a hasty retreat to my bedroom to put on more clothes. Debating whether a dream within a dream could be possible, as I furiously remove the knots from my hair with a brush, I work up the courage to head back out.
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The suits were still chatting away outside, after a few internal dilemmas I decided that it would be acceptable to pour myself a cup of coffee in my own home. Shuffling to the balcony door I could make out their voices clearer.
“I’m telling ye’, these Pales aren’t too bad.”
“I still think that the Six Stars ones we got are better.”
Despite my expectations, they’re just debating cigarettes.
Wait, those are my cigarettes.
Shaking hands push open the sliding glass door as I confront the unusually friendly, and unusually attractive, home intruders. At least I tried to, my voice only doing its best vtuber shark impression.
“A-..”
With my face burning I could only look down while gesturing to the Pales packet in the man’s grip. Ginger chuckles innocently as he places it gently in my outstretched palm. After confirming that there was a lighter in there, as well as more than 10 missing cigarettes, I awkwardly slid one out with my mouth before putting the packet into my pocket.
Why did I bring the coffee with me? Two hands would have been great right now.
Making it look difficult, I retrieve the lighter from the pack. Successfully casting [Lesser Flame] with only two spins of the sparkwheel, I took a deep drag. Stress levels actively decreasing, I exhale a thick cloud and attempt being a functioning human once more.
“Why.. are you in my house?”
And why are all my smokes gone?
“Should we have left you on the floor?” replied the diva nonchalantly.
“...”
“...”
Our standoff is neutralised by the princely aura of the smoke thief.
“Ye’ scared us when ye’ dropped like that. Had to break the screen’s lock, apologies for that, there’s a bloke comin’ round to have it fixed tomorrow.”
While that may be a relief in some sense, that still doesn’t really answer anything.
“C-can someone please tell me what this is all about?”
“We’re from Clover Corp.” the woman explains, handing me dual business cards.
Pointing through the glass at my PC she continues,
“You know, the Rogue Tale devs—my card is the one on top by the way.”
I nod like she isn’t saying crazy things as I examine the seemingly identical cards. Subtle off-white colouring contrasted by crisp dark text, both their names and titles are stated, there's even a four-leaf clover watermark. Turning the cards over reveals the same phone number and business email, probably the generic office contacts.
[Clover Corp. Liaison Division: Field Officer Winter]
[Clover Corp. Liaison Division: Field Officer Autumn]
What if it was a dream within a dream within another dream?
Snapped back to reality by two consecutive claps I return my attention to Winter.
“Congratulations, Lorraine Thompson, you have been selected to participate in the upcoming beta.”
Come again?
Questioning why I turned to Autumn for assistance, who only offered a cheeky grin, I noticed that my cig had gone out.
***
Despite my best efforts to convince the duo that there must have been a mistake, I finish my coffee defeated as masked soldiers bring large sealed boxes into my living room. Winter has assured me not to worry, but how could I not? These people were carrying guns.
Australia has had strict gun laws in place for decades, normally only seen on federal officers or security agents transporting cash for banks. The soldiers do not look like police, nor are they part of any army I recognise. They pay me no attention as my furniture is rearranged to accommodate a new construction.
“Are you sure this is alright?”
“For the 6th time, yes, you made the cutoff.”
“But I’m not even subsc-”
“Irrelevant, the qualifiers used to determine participation are based on a range of factors.”
“But I-”
“Enough, give yourself some credit.”
“She’s right lass, yer’ up there in the rankings across a whole lotta’ fields, even with yer’ handicap.”
Grumbling dejectedly, I watch in defeat as the soldiers finalise their assembly. The metallic pod stands at roughly 2 meters, being a little more than half that length wide. Cables protrude from the walls where a power outlet used to reside, it seems they accommodated the home to the tank rather than the other way around. Attached to the side is a visual panel, which I assumed was for monitoring vitals, while the inside houses an indented template shaped to fit a human.
My electricity bill is going to be ridiculous this quarter.
Above the front hatch, lining the top like a crown, are multiple antennae pointed at different angles. Apparently, it uses satellites to connect to the servers, relieving me of a major worry. The news had prompted tears of joy, the only kind of tears that I would shed during the adjudication of my Australian internet connection.
Along with the pod, I was assigned twin pairs of spandex bodysuits that covered everything bar the face. They were a dull grey and covered in webbed lines that gave the impression of circuitry. The more sensitive areas had thicker padding, giving off a hint of modesty.
Upon completion of their task, the soldiers vanish from the room as if they had never intruded in the first place. Left alone with the liaisons, I am ushered to my room by Winter to get changed. To my embarrassment I was instructed to strip down, underwear and all, before putting on the suit—at the very least she was kind enough to turn around for that.
Like an astronaut ready to be shot off into space, I emerged from my quarters with Winter in tow. Autumn is by the pod running calibrations, now powered it emits a faint green glow from within. A few clicks on the screen from him and the front panel raises upwards like a full helm’s faceplate.
“Nervous, lass?”
“Is the scuba gear necessary?” I sigh sheepishly.
“Aye, it amplifies the haptic feedback, ye’ need it for the full experience.”
Running out of points to argue I resign myself, climbing into the machine and being surprised by the spongy interior. Similar to memory foam, my body relaxes as it sinks into the grooves. A tap from the other side of the window snaps me out of my curious trance.
“We’re going to hang around for your first dive to ensure things run smoothly, the beta launches officially tomorrow but it’s best to have your avatar initialised beforehand.”
Descending from above, a cabled mask is guided to my face. The silicone-like material is soft and rests snugly on the bridge of my nose, functioning as an effective blindfold. The lower half is clear and bulbous, fresh oxygen pumping out giving the calming reassurance of safety. I try to focus on Winter’s voice but it dampens out as my consciousness begins to fade.