by David Payne
“Like designing games?”
Tony smiled.
“We found a game designer who was fired, very publicly. He had been caught with stuff on his laptop that shall we say was a little unconventional. He was unemployable. So I reckoned a guy who was looking to make money and was willing to go outside the law was just the kind of man we were looking for. And thus…” Tony spread his arms wide for dramatic effect. “Pain-games came to be.”
I sat there open mouthed. Tony clearly enjoyed the effect his words were having on me.
“These games aren’t like what you play at home only better. We are talking near real fucking life here. Imagine feeling the steel a of gun in your hand as you squeeze that trigger and turn your enemies into mincemeat, watching the blood flow, smelling the gunfire. I sampled it Joey. Believe me, it’s the real fucking thing. Oh you would love it my man, truly you would love it.”
“When? Where?”
“As it happens, you’re just in time. We got a whole load of sign ups from across the country, hell from across the world. See the way we work some of our games, everyone starts at the same time. Only one can complete it and win the prize.”
“Prize?”
“One million dollars. One million dollars for the best, the guy who’s good enough to complete the game before everybody else.” He smiled. He knew I was already sold, but he enjoyed pushing my buttons, he knew that being the best at any game was everything to me. It was obvious to him I was exactly as I had been at high school.
“What games do you have?”
Tony chuckled.
“Oh I have just the game for you. Another dramatic pause. “Deadhead.”
_______________
In the dim light of the street lamp I picked my way through the needles and used condoms that littered the ground. I saw a huge figure up ahead of me, standing outside a door at the side of the alley. When I got closer I saw he was an immense bald back guy, dressed in a leather jacket, and with multiple rings on his fingers. If his job was to look imposing then he was doing his job very well.
“Password?” He said as I came to a halt in front of him.
“Troll two one nine eight.”
He bid me to hold on for one minute, then spoke to someone on his headset, after which he nodded his huge bald head, opened up the door, and ushered me in.
“Joey my man!” Tony was standing right in front of me, wearing the same three piece suit and perfect white smile as he had been when I had last seen him two weeks ago at the strip bar. I briefly wondered if it was the same suit or if he had one of those wardrobes that was filled with twenty jackets, suits, ties, trousers and pairs of shoe that were all exactly the same.
“Come with me. How you holdin’ up? You feelin’ it man? Are you ready to play?”
“Yes, yes, I’m ready”, I replied. I realised where we were. Two weeks ago I had met him in a strip club, and now we were in an underground whore house.
He was leading me along a long corridor, lit only by low green and red light, no doubt to give it that extra seedy feel. There were smells in the air that were familiar, that I could not help but place, try as I might not to. They were emanating from the multiple doors on either side of us, all shut, but the moans, groans and occasional whiplash and yelp of pain left little doubt as to what was taking place.
Further along the corridor, scantily clad women began to pass us by. Asian women, black women, blonde white women. My old friend was truly aiming for diversity in the prostitution business. Some of the women flashed me a smile as they walked by, and I could not deny the stirring I felt in my loins as I laid eyes on those womanly forms that I knew could be all mine if I had the money. Tony could sense what I was thinking.
“Hey, like I said at the club old friend, you don’t have to pay man.” He slapped me on the back.
“I’ll wait until after the game if that’s alright.”
“Sure, whatever. Here we are, just through here.”
He stopped at a door at the right, opened it up and gestured for me to enter. This was it. I swallowed hard and stepped in.
My heart skipped a beat. Sitting right in front of me was a familiar and frightening face. A face I remembered so vividly. It was the man who had been with Tony that day several years ago, the man who had picked him up after school and given me that look like I had never forgotten.
He was sitting down, unmoving, unsmiling, looking right at me. He was a little weightier than I remembered him, and there was a large scar running down his right cheek that I was certain was not there on that one occasion I had seen him before. It popped into my head to point at his scar and say, ‘I wouldn’t like to see the other guy’, but I thought better of it.
“This here is Vince”, said Tony, seemingly unaware I had actually seen him before. I nodded to Vince. He gave a barely perceptible nod back. “He’s my right hand man so to speak.”
I was tempted to ask what being the right hand man to Tony entailed, but again thought better of it. I took in my surroundings. Stone walls, stone floor, the chair that Vince was sitting in, a plain wooden table, and a single bed with white sheets. On the table, lay what had the appearance of a blue cycling helmet, with what appeared to be several wires protruding from the underside, each ending in a black pad of sorts.
“I believe you have something for me Joey.”
“What? Oh yes, um, here…”
I reached into my jacket pocket and took out the envelope I had brought with me. I made to hand it to Tony.
“No”, said Tony, shaking his head, “give it to Vince.”
Vince stood up. Now on his feet, he towered over me, he was just as tall as I had remembered. He took the envelope from me, opened it up, took out the contents, and leafed through the fifty dollar bills that comprised the one thousand dollars. When he had finished, he placed the money back in the envelope, put the envelope inside his jacket pocket and nodded to Tony.
“Ok then”, said Tony. “Are you ready to get started?”
“Yeah, um, how do we do this?”
“Ok, it’s pretty simple. We place the helmet on your head and attach these pads, and then you lie on the bed. That’s all there is to it. Now apparently what happens is that your body goes into a trance, or stasis, or whatever the word is while you’re in the game world. So it’s like your mind is in the game, but it will feel like your body is as well. Now remember Joey, we call them pain-games for a reason. If a zombie takes a chunk out of your arm, it would be just as painful as it would be in real life. If some guy takes a baseball bat to your head, it would be give you the major fucking headache it would be in real life. It’s like I said, this isn’t like what you play at home only better, this is practically real fucking life. Do you understand everything I have just said to you? This is your last chance to back out, before we place the helmet on you.”
Tony was addressing me with a look of utmost seriousness on his face. This wasn’t a friend to friend talk. This was like a speech he had prepared. I got the impression he had given it to many others before.
“So how does it all work, I mean…toilet breaks, eating and sleeping. What’s the game rules?”
“There are scheduled breaks when needed, the game will pause. Everything else will be explained to you by the Game Master when you’re in the game. Ok then, let’s get the show on the road. Take a seat on the bed.”
I did as told, and Vince brought the helmet over to me and placed it upon my head. It felt slightly tight fitting and the wires dangled uncomfortably over my face. Vince sorted through them, carefully attaching each pad to the side of my head. I figured I must have looked like one of those chimps with helmets on that they did experiments with.
“Now lie back and close your eyes”, said Tony. “I’m now going to flick the switch and send you into the game. Are you ready?”
“Yes”, it was a whisper. My mouth was dry. I closed my eyes.
_______________
I was floating in white space, right in front of me was
a red translucent screen.
Welcome to Deadhead. Please choose your avatar. Weapons are not included.
I actually liked the look of the first avatar on the menu. It was the classic post-apocalyptic bad ass. Crew cut, sunglasses, manly stubble, worn out black leather jacket, bullet belt across the chest with machine-gun slung across the shoulder, camouflage pants and black leather boots.
I swiped though the others just to see what there was. There were many variations on the post- apocalyptic bad ass; all combat fatigues, all leather, all ripped jeans and chequered shirt. There were cowboys, there were even Indians, there were medieval warriors, there were roman gladiators, there were sillier ones like devils and trolls, there were even blonde haired princesses. I chuckled to myself, wondering if anybody would be brave enough to wander the zombie populated virtual world looking like somebody that gets rescued in a fairy tale. Looking at the others was fun, but I scrolled back to the first one.
“This one”, I said.
“Would you like to maintain your own facial features?”
I thought about it for a second.
“Yes, but make me look ten years older, with a manly stubble.”
“Done. Your avatar is now ready. Enjoy Deadhead!”
And then the translucent screen disappeared, and I was no longer floating in white space.
____________________
I was in a field, or a clearing of some sorts, and there were hundreds of us. Everyone around me had a look on their faces like they’d just woken up from a deep sleep and had no idea what was going on.
I looked down to myself. I had exactly the kind of avatar I had chosen, minus the weapons of course. I tentatively touched the leather on my jacket, probing it, pinching it, running my fingers up and down, my hand shaking as I did so. This really was as real as real. Tony had been telling the truth.
I knelt down and touched the grass at my feet, sweeping my hand over it, feeling the wetness of the morning dew. It felt like morning anyway, the air had a crispness to it. I then took my hand up and wiped the dew over my face, breathing in through my nose, taking that green smell of the grass deep into my…was it accurate to say my body?
I stood up and took a proper look around me. I now realised I was surrounded by hundreds of people who were dressed just like me. Post-apocalyptic bad ass was of course a very popular avatar. It was like we had all come to the party with the same fancy dress. There were exceptions. Predictably there were actually blonde haired princesses among the leather and the camouflage. Silly avatars simply could not be resisted by some, despite the seriousness of the fact there was one million dollars on the line.
There were audible gasps all around me as everyone touched and smelt the reality of the virtual world we were now in.
Looking over the heads of the crowd I could see that there was a light mist surrounding us. It was more or less plain grass fields in all directions with a raise in the distance in front of us which could just about be called a hill. I noticed that behind us there was a one story house that had long fallen into disrepair, the nearest wall now more or less a pile of rubble. To the side was what looked like a pile of rubbish, as if the former residents had just dumped all their rubbish outside as a matter of convenience.
“May I have your attention please?”
A shimmering, bald headed and rotund figure had appeared in front of us. He was wearing orange robes-almost buddha like in appearance.
“We thought it would be more interesting to have a physical representation of the AI at the beginning of the game, in between each level, and at the end, for those who make it that far. Think of me as the Game Master. I want to welcome you all to Deadhead, the ultimate zombie apocalypse game. Now first thing is first ladies and gentlemen, please observe your character sheets.”
In the bottom right corner of my screen appeared a translucent white screen with my stats.
Name: Joe Denver
Level: 5
Mana: 24 Agility: 10
Strength: 10 Willpower: 8
Endurance: 10 Intelligence: 10
Speed: 10 Luck: 8
“All of you start with the same statistics, as relates to physical characteristics. Willpower and intelligence will vary from individual to individual however, as this will relate to your real life character.”
Hmmm. Willpower of eight and intelligence of ten. Were those high numbers, low numbers or just average?
“You all start with eight for your luck. If at any time during the game you wish for some good fortune, shout out. “Game Master, test my luck’. A random number between two and twelve-simulating the roll of two dice-will be generated. If the number be lower than or equal to your luck score, you are lucky. If it is higher, then you are unlucky. Every time you test your luck, you must then deduct one luck point. Are you all with me so far?”
There was a mass nodding of heads.
“Good. Now, we are going to start off the proceedings with a dice roll. You will be all be allowed to choose two items with which to begin your quest. Your dice roll will determine which two items it will be. Reach out and touch the dice that will now appear in front of you.”
A large black dice appeared in the centre of my vision which I tapped as instructed, setting the dice spinning. A random number could have been generated in milli-seconds of course. I assumed this was for show, and to replicate that feeling you had when the dice was rolling across the table and you were praying for it to land with those six dots facing upwards.
The dice stopped.
Dice roll - 1
Wonderful.
There were multiple groans of disappointment and small yelps of satisfaction as everyone discovered their number. Now to discover what that number truly meant.
“A menu will now appear in your vision”, continued the GM. “If you rolled one you may choose two class one items. If you rolled two, you may pick two from either class two or class one, or one from each, and so and so on. As an added bonus, you can even help yourself to whatever you like from that pile of rubbish over there.”
The menu appeared in my vision and I began to scroll through. Class one items were illuminated with green while all the others were illuminated with red, indicating which choices were available to me.
Class one items
Ten inch nail: Weight 1 kg, Damage +2
Two rolls of masking tape: Weight 300 grams
Class two items
Machete: Weight 1 kg, Damage +4
Club: Weight 2 kg, Damage +4
Crowbar: Weight 2 kg, Damage +4
Class 3 items
Axe: Weight 5 kg, Damage +6
Sledgehammer: Weight 9 kg, Damage +6
Class 4 items
Double handed sword: Weight 9 kg, Damage +8
Spear: Weight 6 kg, Damage +8
Class 5 items
Chainsaw: Weight: 9 kg, Damage +14
AK-47: Weight 4.5 kg, Damage +20, Ammo 5 clips
Shotgun: Weight 4 kg, Damage +24, Ammo 12 slugs
Class 6 items
Helicopter gun: Weight 25 kg, Damage +35, Ammo 1000 rounds
RPG: Weight 7 kg, Damage +40, Ammo 5 grenades
What the fuck? One random dice roll at the beginning of the game and some were getting guns and RPGs while I was entitled to fucking masking tape?
The whole menu could be scrolled through, each item with a nice shiny illustration. It was as if those of us who had rolled one were on a gameshow, had missed out on the big prize, and were being teased with ‘let’s look at what you could have won.’ I was not the only one who was pissed off.
“What the fuck man?” Roared another post-apocalyptic bad ass at the GM. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with masking tape, fucking wrap zombies to death? This isn’t how gaming works man, you earn items as you go along. I say different rules or at least another dice roll.”
The GM remained perfectly calm. Well, he would have I suppose, he was an AI who didn’t feel emotion.
“Whether it is fai
r or not depends on how you play the game. Now let me remind you sir, that when you are on your own with your books and games, you can of course choose dishonesty and roll the dice again if the numerical outcome is not to your liking. But right now sir, I say to you that you will accept the outcome and play the game, or your avatar will cease to exist.”
“I paid a thousand dollars for this man”. The angry leather clad player was now pushing through the crowd toward the GM. “One fucking thousand dollars. Now give me another dice roll, or change the…”
He never got to finish his sentence, because in that moment he literally ceased to exist-as in his avatar was there one second and not the next.
“Would anybody else like to dispute their dice roll?”
Nobody said anything.
“Good“, continued the GM, “then let us proceed, “simply tap on the item in the menu and it shall appear.”
As I looked at my limited choices I thought about the GMs words. ‘Whether it’s unfair or not depends on how you play the game”. That reminded me of something. ‘There is only one true path, which you should be able to negotiate no matter how low your dice rolls may be.’
It was a line that was always in the pre-face of the game books I played. It had always been there and I must have read it more than a hundred times. Of course, I had always rolled the dice again if I got low dice rolls, but here I was being given very little choice. I had rolled one and now I was going to have to roll with it so to speak.
This all seemed so unusual, contrary to normal game structure. As the player no longer with us had pointed out, usually you found items as you went along, you levelled up and earned the right to certain weaponry and advantages over others. But here was a totally random assignment at the beginning.
It’s only unfair if you play the game that way. There is only one true path, which can be negotiated no matter how low your dice rolls.
