The NextWorld 02: Spawn Point

by Jaron Lee Knuth

  We're all standing on a small plot of land that houses a single tree, as if the universe ripped it from some earth that no longer exists. Roots protrude from the bottom of the loose soil.

  “Cool,” is all I manage to say, but no one hears me. Everyone is too busy trying to fit in their questions between everyone else's questions. We're all trying to catch up on years in a matter of minutes.

  Before I explain my own story of my death trapping me in the log-out loop for so long and the virus attacking, Xen and Raev explain their experiences after graduation. They decided to take a pilgrimage through DOTgod, exploring the multitudes of other denominations and religions and philosophies. It was during these travels that they came across an old database from the early years of Omniversalism. No one had opened the files for decades. The files clearly stated there were originally only seven hundred and seventy-seven lessons of Omniversalism. Men and women trying to further their own agendas added the rest.

  “There was a huge investor of the audio-cast,” Xen explains, smiling and speaking with a slight chuckle as he pops a tiny red pill into his mouth. “He added the rules about never reading the lessons. You were only supposed to speak them.”

  Raev plops down against the tree and says, “After we knew where his credits were invested, it seemed kind of obvious why he wouldn't want people using text-casts to spread the word of Omniversalism.”

  “No doubt,” Xen says with a wink toward Raev. “When we pieced together who made what new rule, the motivations and biases became quite clear. We couldn't continue teaching Omniversalism with a clear conscience.”

  This led them to create their own site within DOTgod where they could teach the original lessons, dubbed “The Sevens”. They called it Metaversalism. Over time their venture turned into the mega-church we found them in.

  Raev's mother still thinks that Xen has coerced her into some kind of cult that's taken over her life. She's still trying to bring her back into the DOTbiz domain to pursue a more secular path.

  “It won't be a problem for me to get us into DOTbiz,” she tells us, running her fingers across the thick grass. “I have an open invitation. But I'm guessing we don't want my mother tracking us, in which case we're going to have to wait until she logs-out.”

  “I don't know if we have that kind of time, yo,” Fantom says.

  “We don't have a choice. The possibility of her little lamb returning to the capitalist flock will always excite my mother.” Raev chuckles at her own description and explains, “She has an automatic alert to let her know if I ever enter the domain.”

  Fantom looks anxious as she paces around the tree. I try to use logic and strategy to convince her.

  “It's pointless to log-in to DOTbiz if we're going to get caught by some overbearing parent hovering around our accounts. We should wait.”

  Fantom doesn't look happy but she says, “This is your quest, Cowboy.”

  “Perhaps I'm mistaken, and if so, please correct me,” Xen asks as he nonchalantly slides another pill into his mouth, “but won't the DgS be looking for Arkade? And if so, wouldn't they check up on any of the accounts associated with him? I'm not sure hanging out with the two players he was grouped with in DangerWar 2 is the best idea.”

  “Why don't you leave the hackin' to me,” Fantom says with a glare.

  I hate to admit it, but, “He's got a point, Fantom. I think they would know that Xen is the first person I'd contact when I logged-in.”

  She lets out a long sigh, annoyed that she has to explain herself. “Look, you're on one of my old ghost accounts because you needed somethin' clean for the log-in. Once you were inside NextWorld, I rerouted your bandwidth so they can't track your E-Womb location. After that, hidin' your online activity is kiddie scripts. I'm doin' the same for all of us. We're invisible, yo.”

  “And the church?” Xen says, calm and smiling like his mind is floating high above any real sense of worry. “I can't have anyone in my congregation associated with any kind of illegal-”

  Fantom holds up her hand to stop him. “As soon as we entered, I redirected any attempts at log-ins to an 'under construction' warning. The DgS can't send officers to check it out. As soon as we leave, I'll reconnect your traffic and no one will be any wiser.”

  “You hacked my church?”

  It's the first time his smile falters.

  Raev sets her hand on Xen's shoulder and says, “It'll be fine. We'll send out apologies to everyone for the inconvenience. They can survive a few hours without you.”

  “Sorry, Xen,” I say, “but we need to do this. It's the only chance I have to save her.”

  Xen pops another pill into his mouth. His indulgence in the inebriating app is making me uncomfortable, but I don't have time to analyze it.

  “Of course,” Xen says, returning to his dazed, unconnected state.

  After that, we bide our time. Raev constantly checks her parent's online status while we talk, sharing more stories from our time apart.

  Fantom tells us about evading the DgS when she first logged-out from DangerWar 2, setting up her new account and bouncing around NextWorld for a few months. She soon realized her hopes for a career had become monumentally more difficult and would only serve to endanger her anonymity. She hung out more and more with the hackers in the DOTnet underground, meeting a few like-minded people that were trying to make NextWorld a better place, a place where people could be safe and free.

  I find myself nodding along as Fantom's speech about the freedom of information turns into Raev and Xen comparing it to their own quest to expose the truth of Omniversalism's corruption. The idealism of all three of them is contagious. Why am I finding myself so swept away by everyone's grandeur? Is it because they're so secure with their place in life while I'm lost once again, displaced from my home? Am I just reaching for anything that will stop my fears from sweeping me away?

  As their heated conversation continues, I try to make myself more comfortable. I open up my avatar design screen and start tweaking variables. I've felt awkward being inside someone else's form ever since I logged-in.

  The first thing I do is change my height. I'm eighteen now, but even if I don't feel that old, I've never felt as young as this avatar makes me appear. I don't have time to design a whole bump-map for the flesh or do any kind of original shading, so I reluctantly choose something from the default choices. I feel better, even if I look like someone who spends all their time in DOTcom on a paid-advertisement account.

  As my avatar changes, Fantom glances over at me and asks, “What are you doin'?”

  I shrug my shoulders, trying to choose from the starter sets of t-shirts and pants that come with everyone's account. “Trying to feel like myself again.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I'm not travelin' around NextWorld with a basic avatar. Here.” She swipes her hand toward me and my screen changes from a handful of choices and a limited color wheel, to thousands of different items, clothing options, and body parts in a million different colors. “Pick somethin' better than... that. Please.”

  While I'm amazed at the offerings, I have to ask, “Did you steal these?”

  She rolls her eyes again and I can't help wondering if she has that expression programmed as a loop on her avatar or if she reserves it especially for me.

  “Steal? I don't steal. I'm not a thief.”

  “You're a hacker.”

  “I'm also a cracker, a phracker, and a sneaker. And I'm the girl that saved you from a life devoid of digital communications. Remember?”

  “I'm just saying... these look expensive. Really expensive. And you said it yourself: You don't pay for anything.”

  “I don't pay for stuff because it's just data. Ones and zeroes. Like everythin' else in NextWorld.”

  “That's stealing. And I'm not comfortable using a stolen avatar.”

  “I might be breakin' some archaic, arbitrary law that I don't agree with, but even if I wanted to pay for those items, they aren't available in North America. We only hav
e access to the most basic virtual items, just enough to get around and do our jobs. I don't exactly see that as fair. Do you?”

  “No, but-”

  “Well then, you can take your 'I'm-better-than-you' attitude and shove it up your-”

  “Some of these are your designs...” I say when I reach the menu labeled with her name. “These are better than the elite models they sell in NextWorld.”

  Raev looks over my shoulder at the screen in front of me. “Wow. Fantom. These are great! If you sold these on DOTcom, you'd make a fortune.”

  “No,” Fantom says, her face darkening with her voice. “I wouldn't.”

  “A price you pay, I suppose, for using an illegal account,” Xen says with a smile.

  “Even if I had a clean account,” Fantom barks back at Xen, “I'd still be forkin' over my North American reparations tax. We're only allowed to make a livin' wage. DOTgov takes the rest.”

  “That's still going on?” Raev asks. “I thought that stopped a long time ago.”

  Fantom mumbles to herself, “It's still goin' on because everyone who's not in North America forgets it's still goin' on.”

  Raev doesn't hear her, instead pointing at a necklace and saying, “That's beautiful.”

  “You're welcome to take anythin' you see. I don't care. It's just copies of copies of copies.”

  I scroll through the options, admiring Fantom's attention to detail in each piece. She's wasting her talent. I decide it's okay to take some copies as long as I stick to things she made. I'm not sure why that's more acceptable to me, but it is.

  After I pick the perfect pair of jeans, I choose some dusty chaps, a shirt and vest combo, a weathered and beaten trench coat, and one perfectly bent cowboy hat. I slap a five o'clock shadow on the squarest jaw I can find, bulk up my chest and arms, and choose the most intimidating pair of eyes in the menu. I feel like myself again. I feel like Arkade.

  “Is that better?” Fantom asks.

  “Yeah. Thank you,” I say. “Look, I'm sorry if I-”

  “Don't worry about it,” she says.

  “No. Listen. I didn't mean to put down what you're doing or say that just because it's illegal it's not the right thing to do. You used some of these same hacks to save me. And now you're helping me save Cyren. Without you I'd be-”

  “I know. You'd be a total loser, yo.”

  She laughs, and I join in, even though I don't find it funny... because I'm ashamed of how true it is. I'm not ashamed of being some social misfit like I assume she meant. I've been dealing with that my whole life. I'm ashamed of losing the game.

  I lost. It's that simple. When the stakes were the highest, I failed at the one thing I thought I was good at. But Fantom gave me an extra life. She gave me a second chance and now all I can do is try to give Cyren the same thing.

  It's a new quest in a new world and there's a new set of rules, but this time I'm going to win.

  01000111

  “She's out,” Raev says, closing the screen she was using to monitor her mother's online status.

  “Finally,” Fantom says, wasting no time summoning her flying carpet and climbing aboard. “Just so you know, we can't be usin' this thing in DOTbiz. The security inside that domain is the strongest in NextWorld.”

  “You keep saying that. I have to admit, I'm surprised you're conceding that it's too strong for the great and powerful Fantom,” I say with a smirk, taking maybe a little too much pleasure in finding the chink in her armor.

  “You wish, Cowboy.” Once we're all on the carpet, she yanks on the front and rockets into the sky, leaving DOTgod behind. “DOTbiz has the credits to do pretty much anythin' they want with their security. But even if I wanted to write a bypass algorithm for whatever measures they paid for, it'd be stupid to attract that much attention to the bandwidth usage this flyin' carpet needs. We're goin' to use somethin' a little more... standard.”

  Diving toward DOTbiz, a recognizable fear stretches out its cold fingers in my direction. I've always dreaded the fact that I'd probably end up here. There was no way I'd follow my father into DOTgov, and I knew if I didn't figure out some other plan, I'd be doomed to live out my days here in DOTbiz. Another corporate entity, paid to do some menial task because I'd be cheaper than buying an NPC.

  Even if I was “lucky” enough to work for some game company, creating the very thing that I loved, I knew I'd become nothing more than a piece of a machine, with no real contributing power to the overall product. Another zero in a sea of binary.

  The entrance to DOTbiz looks so generically uninspired, I'm immediately bored. There's a minimalist style to everything. Gray, monotone colors cover the soft edges of every wall. Ferns and philodendrons spot the open areas, perfectly green and spaced an appropriate distance apart. Someone designed everything to neutralize emotion and stamp out individual thought. I'm ready to fall into a dazed trance when I remind myself what's waiting on the other side of the arched gates.

  When we land, Fantom summons a different vehicle from her inventory that can accommodate multiple avatars. It's a brown, four-door sedan that looks like every other vehicle entering the domain. I'm about to complain when I realize that it's the perfect way to blend in with the monotony.

  “I'm drivin',” Fantom says as she climbs into the driver's seat.

  I climb in the passenger side and look over the seat at Xen and Raev in the back. “This is going to work. Right?”

  “Course it's goin' to work,” Fantom says, answering for them.

  “I haven't stepped foot in here since a job shadow I did for my DOTedu senior class project,” Raev says. “I promised myself I'd never come back...”

  “We won't be here long,” Xen says, popping a pill and peeking out his window like he's on a safari in a foreign land.

  I look back and forth at them both, watching them clasping hands and smiling, offering each other their strength.

  They were safe before I showed up. They were in a place that didn't threaten their viewpoints. There was no risk of upsetting everything they accomplished. Their life protected them. They had achieved their goal. They were able to relax in the reward together.

  Cyren and I used to have that.

  “Thank you for doing this,” I say to Raev. “I know that I already put Xen in danger once. Now here I am, doing it again.”

  Raev reaches forward and puts her hand on my arm. “Xen's a big boy. He can make his own decisions. Besides, Metaversalism teaches us that the more we bleed, the thicker the scar will be that protects us.”

  I'm about to call her out on how little sense that lesson makes to me, but I stop myself.

  “I want you to know how much I appreciate everything you're doing. I promise I'll get you two back to your church as soon as I can.”

  “As long as you promise to visit us more often,” Xen says with a smile.

  “Of course.”

  “And maybe attend a service or two while you're there?”

  “We're next,” Fantom says as our car rolls through the archway.

  I turn around in my seat, thankful for the rescue from Xen's request. There's a beep in my ear, then a chime of approval. The same screen pops up in front of each of our faces, acknowledging our companion's family-approved DOTbiz account. It contains a long, legal document listing what we can and can't do, how far away from Raev we're able to be at any given time inside the domain, and the names of prohibited streets. We all press the accept button without reading it and our car is thrust into DOTbiz.

  The windowless skyscrapers of the domain all look exactly the same. There is no commercialization or marketing allowed here, just utilitarian storage space. Each office structure stretches toward a sky that isn't sunny, nor cloudy. There's no contrast. The road is the same color as the sidewalk which is the same color as the buildings that happen to be the same, monotone gray as the sky. A deep, choking depression hovers over the domain like a cloud of smog. We slide through the streets, passing company cars that offer a minimal amount of bandwidth.
The employees inside hang their heads low as they make the slow crawl to whatever employer deemed them useful enough to pay.

  “And to think, you had to give up all this to become a hacker,” I say with a smirk.

  “I should have had a choice,” Fantom says, her jaw firmly clenched.

  I can tell my joke made her angry, but I don't understand why. She has an inventory of items, she doesn't have to pay for a thing, she's got unlimited bandwidth, and DOTgov barely knows she exists. If that isn't freedom, I don't know what is.

  The streets of DOTbiz roll under our car, each intersection passing us like clockwork, every block the exact same size and shape. The designers meant for the uniformity of everything to bring a sense of fairness and equality to the domain, giving every business a fair advantage, but the idea is ludicrous. As soon as they unleash their products into DOTcom, the company with the most money for marketing always comes out on top.

  The monotone landscape bores me into submission. I'm woken from the glaze covering my eyes when Fantom says, “It's just ahead.”

  The mapping software built into the vehicle directed her here, but to the rest of us, it's just another building with one unmarked door on the front.

  As we step out of the sedan, it disappears back in to Fantom's inventory. There's a moment of shared hesitation before we enter the building, but I push past it, knowing that I'm getting closer to Cyren with every step I take. I open the door and step into a white room. A turret drops down from the ceiling and my gamer instincts force me to duck and roll to the side. The turret stays locked on to me, but instead of spitting out bullets, it scans my body.

  “You do not have permission to enter.”

  I look over my shoulder as the rest of the group enters. The turret spins, scans each one, and repeats the same phrase.

  “I hope you have a way to hack this,” I say to Fantom.

  She rolls her eyes at me and says to the turret, “We're requestin' guest passes to visit employee name: Grael.”