.ɘяɘʜ ɘd blυoʜƨ υoჸ ʞniʜɈ Ɉ'nob I .ჸяяoƨ m'I

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Fuck. That was… intense.

The thought comes again that I might want to alter the feedback levels, but… shit, I was the one that wanted something immersive, right? I’m many things, but someone who goes back on what she decides, on what she really wants, I am not. There’s a shitload of medical debt and a fancy little estrogen bottle on my desk to attest to that.

No, the haptics stay on, but… oof, maybe a break. A few minutes off. Sacrilege, to leave a game so soon, but then again, most games don’t do the physical equivalent of electroshock play.

But I can’t help it; as I peel off the whole rigamarole of the haptics, VR and control gloves, there’s one hell of a grin on my face. The added challenge and again, added immersion, both more than make up for the annoyance of a bit of discomfort. Since when does every game need handholding? Sure, it should be an option if it’s needed, but the whole point of the game is that I shouldn’t know I’m in a game, right? Otherwise, what’s the point of looking for the “most immersive VR ever”?

I finish off my can of Monstrous and pop the tab on another one, the heavy-metal font written in a neon red this time for ‘strawberry-raspberry” flavor. They all mostly taste like battery acid, but a refined connoisseur should appreciate properly flavored battery acid. Sighing, shaking off some of the sweat (gross, now I’ll need to actually shower), I yank my laptop from the desk, plopping onto bed and laying it on my stomach.

Is this writing pose good for my incipient carpal tunnel? No. Is it more relaxing? Fuck yes.

I boot up the forum, expertly tilting my head at the right angle to be able to drink in bed without spilling a drop. It takes a few minutes of clicking to find what I’m looking for- the forum pages refresh automatically and constantly, and I have to dig a bit to find the particular page of aficionados I’m looking for.

There it is, under the full immersion forum tag- fuck-me-in-the-matrix.

Truth be told, the “matrix” part at the end was what caught my eye. Sure, most estrogen pills are blue nowadays- but they sure didn’t use to be, and the directors are phenomenal. Personally, Matrix: Ressurective was my favorite; the fourth installment that no one wanted, least of all the directors. It is distinctly not good, and I’m just so goddamn proud of everyone involved for making it so perfectly terrible.

I click the link, go to dive in, and-

This forum has been deleted.

…

What?

I open the terms of service in another tab, staring at each rule in turn. There’s… there’s nothing there about deleting a whole forum. Part of the point of a lot of forum-based chat in this day and age is that it’s preserved, not modifiable or easily deleted like every other kind of social media. This site in particular, I chose for that exact reason- there’s a shitload of things that’ll get you archived or the members banned, but there is no rule that you should be able to delete a forum thread entirely.

I go back to the prior tab, checking everywhere, but… nothing. And the beauty about screen names, they’re even harder to remember than regular names, something I’m terrible at. Not like I was going to friend request everyone there, but… well, I did PM with a few names. Hell, that’s how I bought the game.

I click over to that section of the site, searching through recent messages. There has to be someone who knows why they broke the rules for this, but-

Huh. Fuck. In place of three profile pictures, notably the three I know were in that forum, there’s an “anonymous” image, a blank with a person-shaped outline of a head. Easy visual proof that their accounts are gone. I go to to enter our messages, following the username down into-

What the hell? The chatlog is gone. The username is the only thing left, the rest of the page completely empty- just the words “WEAREALLMEAT” typed out across the top of the page under myr own.

I squint, the brightness of the screen getting to me a bit as I stare at the missing chat. There’s no email signup or payment for the site, their terms of service are pretty basic, just a list of rules. Unlike the thing about forum threads never getting outright deleted, just archived and emptied out, there’s no explicit rule saying that they can’t or won’t delete message threads. But… I haven’t seen anything like this. Someone can choose to quit a message thread, or go in and delete their own messages, but not mine. Again, the whole point of the website is that it’s totally anonymous, accessible mostly to those who use a tor or vpn to keep their ip address hidden, and that it maintains its chatlogs, always open, always there to reference, never consigned to the internet ghost-town of most websites. What’s the point if the admins are just deleting message chains and forums both?

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I stare at the screen, trying to puzzle through what in the absolute fuck is going on, and see something.

My eyes dart back up to the username. I keep my eyes wide, focused, looking at the top of the screen.

For a second, I could swear that WEAREALLMEAT… twitched.

…Nothing. Perfectly still and static, just like every other username on-screen.

I groan, drawing it waaaaay out, and shut the laptop with a bit more force than I probably should and rolling out of bed.

Nope. It is early evening on a saturday, I am in my room and comfy-cozy as hell, and I refuse to psyche myself out this badly over a videogame and a chatlog.

…fuck. Now I need to pee.

Three cans of artificially flavored, highly caffeinated sugar isn’t great on the bladder, and neither is constantly moving around or getting lightly tazed. A quick break for pee won’t hurt.

I hold firmly to that thought as someone else steps into the hall at almost the exact same time I do, heading towards the exact same aforementioned restroom.

Ah, the joy of roommates.

I raise a hand in an awkward little wave, dramatically self-aware of the fact that I’m wearing just a shirt and panties, but also annoyingly aware that it is well past the usual time for Sarah to leave for an evening shift.

Night shift nursing is no easy job, and for that alone my opinion of Sarah isn’t too bad. Seeing as this is just about all I know about Sarah, besides the fact that a shitload of her moving boxes are still out in the living room months after she finished moving in, it’s not necessarily a glowing endorsement. Sarah barely makes eye contact, sending out a quick smile that feels somewhere between performative and a knee-jerk response.

“Sorry, did you-”

“No no, all good,” I interrupt, holding my hands up in surrender. “Gonna be a late night, just needed a quick break. You go first.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow, but again, that very polite smile, sweet and saying nothing. “Sure! Sounds good!”

And then the door clicks closed.

…Ok, so maybe I’m not being particularly fair to her. Actually, it’s not fair at all, but the fact that Sarah feels kind in a way that never quite reaches the eyes does grate a bit. I’ve tried to reach out to her once or twice, offered to share some food I made, do a movie night, but… well, it’s not like she’s under any demand to be more than polite. I got a lot of polite and awkward notes of “sorry, thanks, that’s okay!”.

That part is all fine and good. Disappointing, but fine and good. The consistent lateness of rent and utilities, plus the moving boxes, plus the fact that she never does anything more than pass by- these things together make up a slightly more biased image. But still- no reason to be sour, deep down. Sarah is nice, but in a way that covers for minor behavioral frustrations and keeps her very distinctly disconnected from anything like a relationship.

And now she was just polite enough not to be rude when taking the toilet.

I sigh, long and slow.

It’s not like Sarah’s unique. Modern-age type of problems. I’ve gone through dozens of roommates over the years, almost never any that I knew beforehand. Since moving out for college, it’s basically been every six-months to a year that someone, me or a roommate, moves in or out of a place. I’ve met and had to live with way worse folks than Sarah with her polite nothingness, and the other roommates are equally fine. Mary-Anne, for example, has a habit of cooking food that is absolutely delicious-smelling, but otherwise hasn’t spoken more than ten sentences to me.

It’s fine. It’s fine! I don’t want to push or make anyone uncomfortable, and if they don’t want to be friends in the first place, then trying to press the issue isn’t going to do anything.

Still… it’s lonely.

Not that things are bad! They’re good! It’s like… I don’t love my job, but it’s bartending. No one likes food service work, right? And it pays well enough, at least with three roommates to back me up on the rent. And then… well, then there’s escapism. Like expensive videogames.

This is the point where my inner therapist gives me a “mhmm” sort of look, which I magnanimously decides to disregard.

It’s fine. It’s not good, but then, things rarely are, big-picture. It’s fine.

But the interaction does very well to remind me that there is something distinctly lonely about being around people, living with people, who do not know you, and don’t want to. No matter how good or neutral or unknown those people might be in turn.

The toilet flushes, the sink rinses, and Sarah steps out, giving an awkward wave and a nod and turning down the hall to her room.

Five minutes later, the toilet’s flushed again, sink’s run one more time. Meds, previously neglected, are gulped down real quick- and then I’m off.

Brushing is for when you’re about to sleep or just waking up, and I intend to continue enjoying the time before that as long as possible.

But first, the whole reason I started checking the forums in the first place.I hops back into bed, laptop primed and running in moments.

I start a new thread, titling it as (what else) MEAT.

Best case scenario, the original intent of finding a way to talk to people about the game and send thanks about the recommendation goes out. Worst case scenario, I get to properly confirm that the mods are up to something shitty. Useful either way, which is the best kind of useful.

I keep the first post short and sweet, some praise for the game and how it’s so damn good, but warning up front about the haptic feedback concerns and the intensity of it. The whole game is a joy and a half, and I have every intention of gushing about it ASAP, even if it’s to the void.

And then… back to it. No work tomorrow- good for mental health, not as good for paychecks, , but a weekend off from the mad rush of customers is… well, kind of necessary sometimes.

A moment’s hesitation, and then I put the feedback pads back on, limber up the control-gloves, and put the helmet back on.

Almost like it was waiting for me, the titular words of the game flicker into being in the dark.

MEAT

BEGIN.