by Jason Krew
Now that he'd started conversing, Roger had a hard time imagining this guy with a girl. Not that he could talk. Talk unkindly about this man, or to girls, for that matter. The second hand smoke arrived, and he took a couple of small steps away. Unconsciously, the man followed.
'I'm unsure, as well,' he said. 'I've always played the healer type, right from the very start. I think I like to heal. It makes me feel useful.'
Roger glanced at his phone. 4:47. The man pressed on, either unheeded by Roger's body language or simply uncaring, though his suspicions leaned towards the former.
The man explained that he had started healing for his older brother, who carried him around for dungeons. He had healed so much, apparently, that he started having dreams about it.
'But my parents didn't like me playing. Not unless I'd done all my study.' He gestured at Roger with his burning ciggy. 'You're very lucky to have such supportive parents.'
Roger had been zoning out, switching continuously between opening his phones display, and politely nodding at the endless dialogues. He raised a hand and scratched at the back of his head.
'Uh, yeah. Very lucky.'
Goodness me. He had made up his mind. He would be a solo player.
The man finished his cigarette, and ground the butt under the toe of a scuffed leather shoe. 4:51. Flash of a cellphone. The clucking of a pigeon as it settled on a nearby street sign. Loud talking smoker man went silent, though only to fish another cigarette out of his pocket. An obnoxious whinnying laughter erupted from further down the line.
More people had arrived to queue up behind Roger, and he found himself dumbstruck by how late these people had made their arrival. He studied the newcomers, and to his eyes, one of them looked at least seventy. Surely this old man was retired? He should have been the first one here. A sizeable paunch distended his maroon sweater.
The chants of 'let them in' had returned, competing with the less successful 'Fan-tay-zha, Fan-tay-zha.'
Another quick glance. 5:01.
5:01! What was going on? Roger's stomach lurched. That couldn't be right. It's not like his phone was fast. In a frenzy, he pulled up the selection email again.
Doors will open at 5:00 p.m sharp. Please wait in an orderly fashion outside.
Five p.m sharp. It was now 5:02.
'Let, them, in. Let, them, in.'
And then there were cheers, and Roger felt blue light douse the side of his face. Virtual Fantasy Inc. The sign shone brightly, and the lights inside the building came on, revealing a pair of sliding doors. They opened up wide.
Chapter II - Part 1
Roger's jaw hung slack, feeling as though he had walked into a dream. A year had passed since Fantalia Online's announcement. A year to the day, and in that year, pundits and skeptics, media, internet forums, chat groups had all chattered and argued over the feasibility of such a project.
'We don't have the technology.'
'Marketing ploy.'
'Twenty years away.'
'Lack of funds.'
'Too ambitious.'
They were wrong. All of them. They were so wrong that it was almost laughable.
Like futuristic terracotta warriors, electronic souls brightly glowing from within, tall pods stood in rows that stretched from one end of the antechamber to the other, as if he'd stumbled into the inner sanctum of some ancient space age emperor.
Luminescent lines ran across the dark ceiling like radioactive lichen, and they bathed the hall in a gentle sapphire glow. Dark glass made up the walls, dotted intermittently with light up panels. The room's reflection glimmered in the glass, giving the illusion of multiple rooms separated only by a narrow window. He thought that it quite looked like the tinted glass in detective series.
'Hello?' called out one of the group. 'Is anyone there?'
The place was as silent, empty and desolate as a tomb. Roger had seen not a single staff member. Entry had been standard enough, although the lack of staff was eerie to say the least. Roger had scanned his codes on the touchpad at the security doors, followed the hallway down and through a pair of double doors. It had taken many minutes for them all to assemble here, and Roger had expected a bustle of staff and security to be ushering them to their stations by the time he arrived.
He stood there with his hands in his pockets, his schoolbag digging into his shoulders, and waited. Already people began to grow restless, and the atmosphere was transitioning from excitement to bewilderment. Disappointment began to well up in the room like a draught of stale air.
'Where the hell is everyone?'
The frustration had given some individuals confidence, and they began walking up to the pods, hands poking at the small screens on the front.
'Hey these things are numbered.'
'No shit, dude. What's your point?'
The first man ran a hand through his long hair, and turned on his phone's torch function with the other.
'Didn't each of us get a number?' he said, running light over the closest machine.
'That's true,' remarked a familiar voice. Roger glanced over at Loud Smoker Man's voice. He had a near tablet-sized phone in hand, and he swiped at it with a pointed finger. 'I'm number thirty three', he said, holding his phone up like a trophy. His teeth and glasses glowed with the icy blue interior lighting, giving the impression of some kind of dweeby android.
'144 here', said a woman.
'127.'
The room echoed with a chorus of shouted numbers, and the crowd began dispersing in search of their corresponding pod station. Roger remembered seeing the number next to his name, but he hadn't thought much of it.
300. Lucky 300.
He closed his phone.
Let's go.
The hall was filled with the scuffle of frantic footsteps. Roger made a turn, was nearly bowled over by one rather large lady swaddled in a bundle of shawls and jumpers. He made a mental note that if there happened to be a PvP function, he would look for this woman on the battlefield.
True to his predictions, his console was at the very back of the room. There was a sleek, white couch in the corner, and like some kind of sign from the angels, next to that was an entrance to the bathroom. Roger dumped his bag and hurried over.
What he found was a restroom for kings. A black, marble urinal lined an entire wall many Roger lengths long, and the grainy marbled doors opened up to reveal fully automated toilets, all lit by a warm orange light. He relieved himself with great enthusiasm, and washed his hands with lavender soap in a gilded silver basin.
Rushing back to his pod, he wiped his damp hands against his trousers. It was awaiting his verification, and the code scanned with a satisfying jingle. There was an almost noiseless whine as the pod opened up, and Roger took a couple of astonished steps backwards.
The machine began to split open at the centre like a cracked egg, and then revolved to reveal its insides, a man-shaped unit equal in size with Roger's own height and build. He looked around, saw the other pods coming alive.
Ding, ding, ding. The screen was demanding his attention. A headphone symbol flashed across it, and Roger reached for the pair flashing in their holder. He placed them on his head, and the ringing stopped. They were comfortable. Too comfortable in fact, almost like they weren't there. Almost like they had been molded for his ears alone.
'Welcome,' they said.
Chapter II - Part 2
Roger nearly jumped at the female voice.
'Brave adventurer,' it continued. 'Welcome to Fantalia Online. I am Elys. I will be your guide to this Virtual Reality Integration Unit, or VRIU.'
Roger looked over at the pod next to his. Its owner was already inside, eyes closed and headphones on.
'Brave adventurer. Please listen carefully, and obey all instructions for successful integration. Before you know it, you will be transported to another world. This world has its own rules, and its own possibilities. To prepare you for this journey, there are certain steps that must be taken. Please take note of the screen i
n front of you, and use it to select your response.'
The voice rattled off a bunch of generic questions concerning the information Roger provided, and he tapped the screen as required.
'Thank you for your assistance. Your safety and enjoyment is paramount, and it is through your cooperation that we can ensure the most comfortable integration.'
Roger followed the instructions mutely, and clambered into the body-shaped grooves. He started when the pod began to tilt, slowly but surely until Roger was facing the iridiscent ceiling.
'In a moment the capsule doors will close. You may open these at any time. To open them, simply release the catch at your fingertips. Practice this now.'
Roger's fingers brushed over a small handle, he hooked it with his middle and pointer fingers, and gently pulled.
'That's the one. If you feel uncomfortable, claustrophobic, or happen to prematurely disconnect from your experience, you can quickly and safely open the VRIU with these squeeze release handles.' It was a small comfort. Roger wasn't claustrophobic, but the idea of waking up stuck in this box was an uncomfortable one to be sure.
'Your VRIU will constantly run diagnostics and disseminate information pertaining to your individual experience.'
He was getting nervous again as the voice prattled on. He didn't realize there was so much operational protocol to be followed.
Is it really that risky?
Forum posts, speculative articles and opinion pieces started swimming through his head. His heartbeat began to throb in his ears.
He'd scoffed and laughed at the critical voices, deriding them as cowards and crybabies. It had been so easy from the comfort of his room, but here and now with the moment upon him, the doubts were creeping in. He took a deep breath, tried to will his heart to slow down.
'I am detecting an increased adrenaline response. This is perfectly normal. Integration can be a daunting process. Please try to remain calm. Remember, you are in control.' Roger's breaths shuddered out. In this anxious state the creepiness of this situation dawned on him. The strange pods, the empty room, the absent staff. His head swivelled about, and he saw that most of the other pods had already closed, their occupants bundled inside.
Did any of them feel like he did? Were none of them beginning to have similar doubts?
'Please try to slow your breathing, three hundred. In for four seconds, then out for four seconds.'
He could leave anytime, he knew. Could just walk out, leave the pod empty and head home. In twenty minutes he'd be on a train back to the shop. Could grab a bite from the night market on the way. He wasn't a prisoner.
'Integration is a daunting process. Please try to remain calm. You are in control.'
He pulled the headphones off, dropped them in his lap. Quiet. Just the soft whirr of cooling fans and the customary whine of electronic processing. The voice in the headphones was still talking to him, and he let it chatter into the void.
I'm okay. It's okay. His breathing was already slowing down. The others seemed to be adjusting just fine, even though the pods had swallowed them whole. At least, none of them seemed to be screaming and thrashing to get out.
Alright. He exhaled sharply. I'll try again. He put the headphones back on.
'-are in control.'
'I know, I know', mumbled Roger. He tried to be comfortable, letting his head collapse into the cushioned indentation.
'Please continue to breathe normally, three hundred. When you are ready, we will begin the first round of diagnostics. Please remain still.' The machine grew louder, and Roger waited patiently, letting his chest rise and fall, trying to keep his eyes focused on a single point above him. It was an old technique, one he used as a child when the night terrors kicked in. He found it funny that such painful memories somehow prepared him for this moment.
'Diagnostics complete. Thank you for your patience, brave adventurer. The VRIU capsule will now close. Please close your eyes and relax.'
The moment of truth. Roger squirmed, trying to get as comfortable as possible while the capsule door turned slowly on its hinge. He closed his eyes, could feel a tingling sensation on his face as the shadow of the door passed across it like an eclipse of the sun. It clicked into place.
'Well done. Please remain calm, and allow us to perform a second round of diagnostics.' The machine kicked back into action, and the low thrum of the fans made the capsule vibrate ever so slightly.
'Thank you for your patience. No anomalies detected. If you have not already, you may now open your eyes.' Roger did as he was bid, and found himself staring at a dark screen.
'You will now be departing this dimension, and ascending into the next. Have courage, brave adventurer, and allow yourself this journey to a new world.' The screen flashed white, and opened into the three-dimensional render of a tattered envelope. The envelope opened, and a letter emerged, stained and worn. It read:
You are about to join the most immersive MMORPG experience in the world. Fantalia is a beautiful world, filled with wonder and mystery and a great many trials. In order to ensure successful acclimation to Fantalia's unique gravity and atmosphere, you will first be transported to our state of the art training facility. This safe room is designed to make your transition comfortable and enjoyable.
Roger felt many things. Fear. Excitement. Trepidation. Curiosity. His breath whistled through the vents, and he waited.
'When you are ready to go, just say the words, 'I'm ready'.'
Breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
'I'm ready.'
Breathless seconds slipped by. Then the screen went dark. Roger felt his guts lurch, and the whole world disappeared.
Chapter II - Part 3
Everything was white. Like the flash of a camera. The control room in the Matrix. An infinite bare expanse, white as far as the eye could see. Roger closed his eyes. Mistake. A strong wave of vertigo hit him, and he staggered.
I'm here.
The realization brought with it a surge of panic, and he doubled over, head swimming. His 'body' felt ten times bigger than it should be, and then much too small. He rocked back and forth on his heels, trying to establish some semblance of balance. The ground tilted, and he sprawled face first into a smooth, hard surface.
It didn't hurt. In fact, it didn't feel like much of anything at all. Such a strange sensation. It was as if his senses registered that something was there, that some force was exerting upon his body, and that it was supposed to be solid. He lay still. Whether it was gravity or aught else, who could say? But he was rooted to the spot, and recognizing this replaced his panic with a gentle burgeoning of relief.
He reopened his eyes, and his vertigo began to smooth over like the surface of a still pond. His surroundings were tangible, and to his utmost surprise, he was breathing. It felt... real. It was disconcerting, to say the least, but there was a movement inside him. Like a signal his brain was interpreting as the expansion and contraction of his diaphragm.
How odd. It was almost like being in a dream, whilst remaining totally conscious. But this was different. He was awake. Wide awake. He looked down at his hands. Flexed them. They were his hands, and yet not quite his hands at the same time. They were missing details. Textures. The diagnostics had given the machine a good blueprint, but it still looked like a game. To this day, no matter how good they got, they never quite captured real.
But damn was it close. And he was in the game! He noticed the frayed sleeves over his wrists, and he gazed down at his new outfit.
Noob clothes.
A tattered jacket, with pauper boots and baggy brown pants made from a kind of rough spun fabric. He could really feel the clothes. There was some kind of weight to them. Some kind of energy field in the area where the clothes met his 'skin'.
The light had toned down considerably, tuning out to a neutral grey rather than searing white. Roger took in his surroundings, and made out the clearly discernible edges where walls met floor and ceiling. He was in some kind of room.
And he was n
ot alone. A flash of movement snatched his attention, and a small figure flitted through the air towards him, accompanied by the flutter of tiny wings.
'Hello', it squeaked, and Roger took a step back despite its small stature. If he had anything to compare it to, he would call it a tiny dragon. Big blue eyes stared as it hovered in the air before him, inquisitive, searching.
'Uh, hey', said Roger. His voice sounded odd in his ears. It was his voice, but somehow a little off. Imperfect, like a mimicry, which he supposed is what this whole thing was.
