I pulled my jeans up around the diaper in the employee bathroom. I knew that if I spent 24 hours in VGO, I was going to end up loading my pants. No sense in not giving my body one more chance at dignity on my way in, though. It had been an interesting experience; I’d done everything while trying hard to look away. VERIDIAN v0.01.16a still floated in black letters at the edge of my vision and, while I didn’t think Jeff was the type to watch another guy taking a crap, and I hadn’t even stopped to think about it in the shower, but the nanites had turned me into a walking webcam, and I was well within signal range.

So I’d stared at the brown and tan porcelain floor tiles. They’d been custom laid by one of the writers who’d started life as a union carpenter. The one at my feet looked like an abstract version of Europe and the beginnings of Russia, if Sweden, Norway, and Finland had been sunk into the Norwegian Sea, Atlantis style. It was a funny little detail, but it was also part of what had made the last two years working for Os-Tech so different from other jobs. Even the buildings had their little eccentricities.

I flushed, washed my hands, and headed for alpha-testing.

Jeff was so focused on his monitors he didn’t hear me walk in. He was squeezing a stress ball that looked like Jupiter at two beats per second.

“Nervous?” I asked, setting the bottled coffee and donuts on his desk.

“Yeah. Aren’t you?”

“A little. Kronos crunch all the numbers?”

He nodded. “We’re all set. I was just checking it over, took some notes, made sure it didn’t do anything crazy like flip the world upside down.” He set the stress ball down and unscrewed one of the coffee bottles, chugging half of it.

“Can I change a few things? I was too tall last time.”

Jeff wiped his mouth with his forearm. “This one’s the real thing, dude. Character creation, intro video, everything. Tell you what though…” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture. “I’ll upload that to your profile to make it easier.”

“Cool.”

He finally noticed the bulge around my hips. “You get fat on the way to the shower or something?”

I lifted the shirt he’d lent me, showing off the diaper waistband.

He laughed.

“Yup, yuk it up. You might have to change me.”

Jeff choked. “What?”

“This things’ fine for a little incontinence, but I just chugged two bottles of water, and I had pizza last night. I did what I could.”

“I’ll take a hard pass on that, buddy.”

“I’ll chafe.”

“Yeppers. That’s going to suck.”

“It’s going to stink. You want to sit there with a full diaper wafting your way? Call it the incidental cost of Glory.”

Jeff stared at me. He scratched his right arm. The reality of the situation was sinking in. Operation Big Baby was happening.

I sighed. “Come on man. You have kids, right? How hard can it be?”

“I just have to change it?”

“And wipe me off,” I said, dropping the wipes on his desk.

His face turned pale. “We will never speak of this. To anyone.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Are we doing this?”

“I guess we are.” Jeff sighed. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing a grin. I turned to walk to the hospital bed.

“Hey, Alan?” Jeff said. He’d stood up and was holding his hand out to me. “Good luck in there.”

I shook his hand. “Thanks.” I turned away. I didn’t think we’d ever be best friends—and I was pretty okay with that—but it was good he’d dialed back the jerkness once he realized I was there to help.

Call me an optimist, but I’d always believed people are basically decent under ideal conditions. It’s just that conditions are never ideal.

I took my shoes and jeans off—the shirt covered me down to mid-thigh—and climbed in, pulling the sheet over my legs. I laid back, thinking of all the ways this could go wrong, from embarrassment to death and what the hell do the troops call a nanite aneurysm? Isn’t “nanite aneurysm” bad enough?

“You ready, man?”

“Hell, yes!” I said, smiling manically.

The world went white, and a deep, male voice boomed from that infinite whiteness. “Traveler! Prepare to enter Viridian Gate Online!”

#

The whiteness dissolved and cold air flooded into my lungs. It had that dry, aching freshness to it you only got at altitude, far from the city. I was standing on a sharp, gray jag of rock that seemed to be trying its best to stab the sky from the top of an already tall mountain. I could feel the chill of the smooth, hard stone through the flimsy wraps on my feet. I spun slowly, took in the steep rock faces covered in snow and ice, broken by lone, scraggly pines and spurs of angular slate. A loud crack echoed from somewhere downslope, in the shadows of a gorge. I was so high up, the sky’s blue had turned indigo, and the horizon was a blurred band of white.

A gust of freezing wind made me hunch over, and I turned my back to it. I was wearing a thin, roughly stitched tunic and ripped trousers that felt like they were made of burlap and did nothing to protect me from the weather. I grabbed at my shoulders, hands shaking from the cold. Tears froze on my cheeks. I was going to die up here if I didn’t find shelter or a way down.

As soon as I thought of getting off the peak, I was snatched back and spun out into the wind, my soul free and aloft. I was flying. Not floating, or pulled into the air by the force and lift of wings, but riding the air currents by my whim, effortless and free. It was the most sublime feeling I’d ever experienced.

I looked down and saw a man fallen to his knees, breath fogging, his whole body shivering, and he looked a lot like me. A translucent interface popped up next to him, with sliders to adjust each of his features. There was a tab on the interface called “Race,” and looking at it brought down a list of names like Hvitalfar, Dokkalfar, Svartalfar… your basic dawn elves, dark elves, and dwarves. Seeing how sick I’d been from minute physical differences in the test server, I put those down as a solid “No.” The Accipiter, a bird-winged race of desert dwellers, tugged at my heart-strings, but while I was enjoying the current sensation of flight, I didn’t think learning to move an extra set of limbs would make my job easier. The Risi reminded me of the orcs in The Ancient Rolls, but wider and with a severe, toothy underbite. I bet their dental bills were horrendous. They were neither like me nor anything I wanted to become.

The two types of human were called the Wodes and the Imperials. Wodes were your basic barbarian, all wild, tattooed, and thickly muscled. Selecting the Imperial race kept my character close to my own real appearance, and the interface informed me that choosing them would allow me to pick any unrestricted class, which suited me just fine. I wondered if “Corporate Hitman” was an option.

With my race picked, I focused on my looks. Short, brown hair, honey-brown skin, thick eyebrows, and hazel eyes stayed the way they were. My teeth were straight, but had never been as perfectly white as I would have liked; I fixed that now with a thought and a few ticks of the “Teeth Color” slider. I had a slim but athletic build and… Oh my God, my hips.

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I looked like a pear. Or a bong. Kronos hadn’t figured out that the extra girth was from the diaper, or maybe our conversations had taught it more than I expected, and it thought this was funny. I knew appearances shouldn’t matter, but they did, and I was as vain as anyone who’d ever gotten away with more than they should because they were pretty. I tidied that up and tried to forget what seemed like a horrifying look into middle age.

The inseam I left alone because let’s face it, why fix what doesn’t need fixing? I floated back to admire my work.

The “me” on the ground stood and looked up at me, or at least in my direction since I didn’t have a body. I could feel myself being drawn back in. There was a rightness to it, and I could always come back and try a new build later. A prompt came up.

<<<>>>

Please choose a name:

<<<>>>

“Alan Campbell,” I said, using my real name. The other me’s lips moved at the same time.

“Are you sure you would like to create Alan Campbell the Imperial?” came the announcer’s voice from before. “Once you create a character, you will not be able to change your racial identity or name. Please confirm?”

“Yes,” I said. My character smiled, arms spread out, and leaned back, falling from the rock. I dove after him.

Then there was darkness.

#

Wind rushed by my ears. Orchestral strings and an ethereal choir swelled until they filled the darkness. I blinked, twisting around to find myself high in the air above a peninsula twice the size of Spain. Deserts and chains of jagged brown mountains in the West, a single, massive peak in the North, and endless oceans all around. The Central and Eastern lands were rolling plains, hills, farmlands, and forests, while the South was overgrown with dense jungles surrounded by swamps. Seven sprawling cities resolved as I descended, then several medium-sized ones, and the land became divided by winding, silver rivers, and roads as fine as hairs. The music flared, then the terrain was zipping by, and I was streaking like a fighter jet toward the eastern edge of the world.

“The year is 1094 A.I.C—Anno Imperium Conditae,” the gruff male voice boomed. “A time of peace in the lands of Eldgard. Or so it seems.”

Men and women dressed in exotic fabrics argued, haggled, and drank wine from bowls made of silver and gold. Tradesmen plied their craft. The city grew. I watched a merchant slip a city watchman a handful of coins to let him through the gates. On the walls, watching, an officer in a gold breastplate laid a hand on his sword hilt, righteous fury in his eyes.

“Years of trade and diplomacy have weakened the Empire. Her citizens are corrupt, her Legion untested, and her mighty generals have faded into legend. Meanwhile, the barbarians living in the wilds beyond our borders grow stronger.” The scene flashed to the seven cities, showing each in turn. “The winged savages of the Barren Sands grow fat on caravans to the fabled glass city of Ankara. The Wodes of Rowanheath shore up their walls and raise their young men for war. The Tanglewood is overrun with monsters, the Bleak Sea teams with smugglers and pirates. Stone Reach speaks of trade agreements where before there was tribute. Even the gates of Glome Corrie, once our staunchest ally, have been barred to Imperial tax collectors so that only the Hvitalfar remain faithful to New Viridia. Or do they placate us? What mischief do they plot in the great libraries of Alaunhylles? In the Storm Marshes, the Dokkalfar teach their children forbidden histories and dream of an empire of their own.”

Blue Griffin banners unfurled from tall, squared stone towers, and I felt my heart swell with the music.

“You are a son of the Empire. The blood of heroes flows in your veins. Will you feed off the carcass of New Viridia, or will you stand and bring the light of civilization to the peoples of Eldgard? Peace never lasts,” the voice warned. “Your destiny begins today.”

I stooped like a hawk for the center of the city.

Oh hell yes. I thought. I mean, I was there to do my job and save the project. I’d be debriefed and have to write reports. Osmark would chew me out, and the Board could push for my termination. And that was all hoping the experience didn’t damage my brain. It wasn’t likely, and Jeff would keep a close eye on the readings, but it could still happen. I should have felt apprehensive.

I was going to be the first gamer to successfully play VGO. This was going to be—

I fell the last foot and landed on my chest, barely avoiding bouncing my face off the white marble. People stopped and stared. I was unarmed, winded, and still in my cheap-ass clothes, as Jeff would have put it. It turned out this was just like any other first day at work.

#

There was a pause, during which I thought someone might comment on my falling from the sky, or start screaming. But then, like magic, the crowd started moving again. No one helped me up. One guy even stepped over me, and all I saw were his sandals. I got to my feet, wiping my hands on my pants and looked around.

People dressed in tunics and more stately togas moved past. Their clothes were clean and well made, the women’s hair pinned with delicate brooches and clips, while the men’s hair was usually oiled and styled. No one made eye contact. It didn’t make sense. VGO wasn’t just supposed to be immersive, it was supposed to be the most advanced AI simulation ever made. There were supercomputers that could pass a Turing test with only a fraction of the computing power Osmark stored in the vault. I didn’t see the same face twice, so these weren’t filler characters or anything; they all had histories, personalities, and as many lines of possible dialogue as a real human being. I thought it might be a cultural thing, but they seemed comfortable enough talking to each other. “Excuse me?” I said.

An older man with a heavy gold clasp fastening his toga at the shoulder glanced at me, then looked away. I didn’t understand. I looked down in case I was still the invisible spirit from character creation, but I could see my body just fine. I’d apparently skinned my knee, which stung the second I laid eyes on it, just like in real life, and that made me grin. I caught another woman’s eye and opened my mouth to greet her. She curled her upper lip in disgust.

It hit me. I was in the wealthy part of town, wearing ill-fitting, torn, dirty clothes. A closer look at my shirt revealed it was called a rough tunic (shoddy). Within minutes of literally landing inside the most advanced video game ever made, I was being discriminated against by NPCs. And it made perfect sense. It was as real as things could get. I didn’t know if it was funny or sad.

“Why aren’t you disappearing?” a man’s voice said.

I turned and saw a portly man in white robes pointing at me with his mouth open. He snatched his hand back as I faced him, as if I might bite. He was wearing an Imperial blue and gold-embroidered stole, like a priest. Maybe he’d help me. “Hi! Could you—”

He ran away. He actually ran away from me. A radius of a few feet had opened around me, like unholy ground. I wasn’t dangerous. I wasn’t foreign—I was a son of the Empire, that much had been quite clear in the intro. My skin was dark, but I saw both lighter and darker pass me by without pause. I was just poor. It was something I’d never experienced, and it sucked.

But hey, that was the game, right? Run a few quests, get some loot, buy better gear so I could hobnob with rich assholes. The fate of the world hangs in the balance, I told myself with a grin. Robert liked to tell people he came from nothing. Maybe this would make me a better person.

“Hey, Alan, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can hear you. Do you have any idea where I am?”

“New Viridia,” Jeff said. “You’re in the capital of the Empire.”

I nodded, looking around. I was in a flat, wide plaza made of tightly fitted slabs of white marble. The white stone shone in the morning sun.

“Is VGO in real-time?” I asked.

“It is now! Kronos synched the clocks so the transition would be less jarring.” I heard him clicking to another window. “You also have to eat, drink, rest, and protect yourself from the elements or you’ll get sick. Pain and smell are about normal, but—and this is interesting—taste is at 115% human standard, so the food’s going to taste amazing.”

“Poop?” I asked.

“Nope. No bathroom breaks. If only the real you was the same.”

A waist-high stone wall and cast iron railings ringed the plaza’s outer edge, and, beyond it, I could see the city from the intro cut-scene, with hundreds of buildings between me and the outer wall.

“So how does it feel?”

“It’s crazy, man. Aren’t you seeing this?”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s hard to follow on a flat screen.”

I’d never seen anything like it. I mean I had, in real life, but never in a game where you could open every door and see the interiors, move things around, probably get into a fight with the owner for trespassing. The Ancient Rolls had been like that, where NPCs had homes, jobs, and people they hung out with during the day, but even the capital city of Cloudrim only had 82 people in it.

I gripped the railing and leaned forward, looking down at the city below. The residential buildings were three, sometimes four-stories tall, and some of the temples and civic were massive even by real-world standards. I could see open-air markets, parks, and a few major avenues wide enough for a couple car lanes—or I guessed horse carts and wagons in this case—though most of the roads were much narrower. “So, how many people in New Viridia?”

“About two million,” Jeff answered.

I believed it.

An oversized hand gripped my shoulder. “Are you lost?”

Two members of the city watch had walked up behind me while I gawked. They wore round bronze helmets with cheek-guards and leather cuirasses, with strips of leather hanging from their shoulders and waists. Short swords were belted at their right hips. The taller one looked like his nose had been broken more than once, and was at least part Risi, with two sharp fangs poking up behind his lower lip. I instinctively leaned back against the railing. The shorter of the two held a knotted thong with several leather tails. She smacked it against her open palm. “Does your master know where you are, slave?”

I swallowed. This was turning into something a lot more serious than a good shunning and dirty looks. A semi-circle of onlookers was forming. “There must be some kind of mistake,” I started.

<<<>>> 

Quest Alert: Continue Reading Nomad Soul

Continue with Alan to find out what happens next!

Quest Class: Rare, Class-Based

Quest Difficulty: Easy

Success: Read on to continue the adventure!

Reward: 15,000 EXP; Title: Rebel Leader

Accept: Yes / No?

<<<>>>