by D. L. Scott
About the Author
Author C. Lloyd Brill lives in California with his girlfriend and ten cats. When not writing he likes to read and relax.
This is his first published work and is looking forward to many more published works, including his first full-length novel The Room.
All of Life is a Game
By Adriel Reed
"This is a kill-or-be-killed scenario, leech," Regin the Radiant, a glowing-skinned millennium-old swordswoman, told Ellie in a baleful tone. "So raise your weapon and prepare for your end. 'Cause I'm about to take your head."
– Kresley Cole Lothaire (Immortals After Dark, #12
Dear Mr. Sinsin,
Hello.
You don’t know my name, or maybe you do. I know that no one’s ever seen your face or heard your voice. You sit in the tower off in the distance, the God of our virtual world. I write as a servant.
Please don’t kill me…
I’ve lived in this quiet town my whole life. I played all the great games you made, and like everyone else, I love them. I’ve climbed to the top of Mount Everest, saved the Queen of England, spoken with aliens, and so much more. There isn’t anything I can’t accomplish and no foe I can’t beat.
Except one.
You see, in all the adventures we’ve had, I’ve always felt the eyes of a stranger, watching me, hunting me. I turn and look every time, but there’s no one there. There’s never anyone there. Only once I called out, but the shrill, shrieking laugh scared me so much I never did it again.
Mr. Sinsin, who’s watching us? Is it you? Can’t you just show us your face and tell us we’re safe?
Just this once?
Please?
Sincerely,
A Fan
# # #
“Can anybody hear me?” He asked.
Flurries of hot bullets rang in response.
Sammy Victory hid behind the row of cars, frantically looking through his backpack of supplies. Surrounded and trapped, it was his story of the skirmish in Tel Bamir. All his comrades lay dead around him as the enemy unloaded clip after clip into the bodies of vehicles.
He turned his bag upside down and inspected the supplies: two pistols, six clips of ammo, a disassembled machine gun, five grenades, two five day old cheeseburgers, and a gallon of water.
“Might be enough.” He thought.
The guns stopped.
Panic wracked his body. The hiss of damaged engines didn’t mask the approaching footsteps. The enemy…they were closing in on him. He looked at the pile of limp bodies surrounding him. Friends, allies, they fell, fell from the Dust King’s wrath.
His breaths came, ragged, hurried. They were closing in on him, stealing the precious remaining air from his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.
He coughed and wheezed, desperately trying to calm down, but the footsteps still came. Sammy slammed his eyes shut and concentrated. Each step echoed in the back of his mind.
In…Out
In…Out
Finally, the seconds stopped taking years from his life. He pocketed all the grenades and snatched the two pistols.
“I’m not going down without a fight!” Sammy shouted.
He quickly dislodged three grenade rings and launched the explosives into the sky. Three seconds ticked by before the explosions came and cars jumped and tipped from their places.
He heard it, the screams, the confusion, the anger. He rolled to the other side of the car, and before he could take a deep breath, he turned and fired.
Sammy Victory was not the most graceful of killers. He stepped away from his cover and fired in circles all around. He closed his eyes, smelling nothing but smoke. The shrieks of pain partially guided him, but he didn’t pay attention.
He twirled in circles, the dizzy ballerina, firing as quickly as he could. He unloaded four clips of ammunition before he stopped turning and opened his eyes.
He squinted. The smoke filled the air, making breathing and sight difficult. He knew, all his enemies lay dead around him, piled on top of what used to be his allies. The scorching heat radiated from punctured vehicles. His eyes stung with sweat, but he had to continue looking. He wiped his face and smiled.
He was the last man standing.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” He suddenly shouted and looked at his arm. Bright blue numbers emerged from his arm, transforming from 24 to 25. He raised his hands in the air and ran in circles on the broken battlefield.
One by one, each of the fallen soldiers rose. They stood, bodies exposed to the vortex of war and violence. Many men stood, groaning and grumbling, seemingly unaware of the gaping hole still in their chests.
Dismembered limbs and heads sprang back to life as each revived fighter scattered to collect their own remains. Sammy watched in satisfaction. For once, he wasn’t the one picking up the pieces. The gash in the side of his head was the smallest injury he’d ever had.
“Maybe next time guys,” Sammy called out. His retort summoned chains of profanities and pledges to exact revenge.
Long, boring minutes passed by before the soldiers collected all their pieces. Sammy quickly joined them as they walked down the highway. The edge of town – that was the destination. He thought it interesting, walking with a cluster of dead men and women to the end of the world. Sammy looked away.
From a distance, the vortex looked like a mouth. It opened and closed. He felt its hunger, its desire. It wanted to devour them all. He slapped his best friend on the shoulder and started a light jog, anything to get out of the mouth. His scowling, lanky friend hopped on one leg while carrying the other.
“Knock it off, Sammy.” The injured soldier growled.
“What’s wrong, Vince?” Sammy taunted, poking his friend’s damaged leg, “You mad I’m getting the grand prize this week? Or is it a hassle not getting to brush those golden-red locks?”
Sammy laughed. Vince didn’t. But they continued walking together towards the end of Tel Bamir. The sign dangled over their heads with no support and no explanation. The colors of the sign shifted from green to blue and back to green. It lowered a barrier, transparent but visible. Only ten more steps to freedom.
“Same time tomorrow?” Vince asked, finally calmed from his defeat.
All who walked through the barrier emerged as new, unharmed. Dislodged legs and rolling heads disappeared as able-bodied men and women walked away from the bloody battlefield. The guns and supplies disappeared, and the streets faded from its carnage to the peaceful cul-de-sac in central Kansas.
He looked back at the gate separating fantasy from the endless plains. The hills, the streets, the cars all faded away, but the sign remained. The whitewash words ‘Tel Bamir’ faded from the sign in cadence. A pyramid shaped kiosk stood at the edge of what was Tel Bamir. With a grin, Sammy waltzed to the stand and entered his hand into its open slot. For a brief moment, his hand and wrist glowed in black light, and the number 25 changed into ‘winner’.
He knowingly turned his hand over and watched as a small stack of dollar bills fell into his hand. It was another day he could buy the little luxuries the town had to offer, like the ‘Game Town’ shirt typical winners wore.
“It’s amazing, Vince.” Sammy said as they watched another world change. “Your dad is incredible with the game worlds he creates. How have you not won any game?”
They walked through the main street, where everyone lived. Lines of houses and business buildings stood parallel for miles. The concrete streets lay peppered with squares of green grass and buildings of every color. Like many small towns, everyone knew each other. Secrets were far and few between the people of Hope Creek, Kansas.
The small town was distinguished by the laboratory on the town outskirts and the branching roads. He stared at the laboratory. It loomed over the small town like a giant. Plenty of people entered the building, but he never saw anyone come out. Whispers wafted over the community, but no one dared do anything else.
Games. Hope Creek built the virtual rea
lity and changed the world. Hovering signs stood at each outlet, blank for most of the day. The signs changed rapidly, morphing the open spaces into worlds of play.
Carl Sinsin, Vince’s father stood at the center of it all. Every day, he innovated and introduced new games, desperate to blur the lines between fantasy and reality. He was never seen, but always present. They were the guinea pigs, running in the hamster wheel of virtual reality. Sammy didn’t mind. The games paid well, and the only casualties were the egos of losers.
“Have you ever seen your dad before?” Sammy asked.
Sammy felt the heat of Vince’s glare and knew he had made one quip too many.
“I’m sorry, V,” Sammy apologized, “I know it must be hard.”
He heaved a sigh of relief when Vince laughed and slapped his shoulder. “No worries buddy.” His arm stung.
The duo bobbed and weaved through town as the games continued. From Tel Bamir, they wandered into the fast paced world of Wheel Zone X.
As they walked under the black and white checkered sign, they walked on the right side as spectators. In the crowd, they sat in the stands halfway to nosebleeds and watched the cars whiz around.
It was exhilarating, the thrill of the race, the passion of the drivers. Cars of different shapes and sizes pushed and bumped each other.
Occasionally, cars crashed into the wall and stalled as fiery flames. They all laughed, knowing the drivers were safe. They stayed for two drag races before leaving.
Sammy entered ‘Fists of Rage’. Every round he fought, he crotch-shot his way to the winners circle.
He laughed and stared as person after person fell to the ground and cursed his name. He didn’t mind. He was a shooter, always was, always would be. All that mattered to him was getting the money. He looked and waved to Vince in the stands. Vince was always there for him.
He didn’t return the support when Vince traveled to ‘The Land of Pirates’. He laughed outside the realm as Vince struggled to find the treasure amidst the crowd of experts.
From the outside, only the scoreboard was visible, and once again, Vince was losing. But through hard work and a little luck, Vince found his way into the top 5.
Sammy slapped him on the back as he went to the Pirate’s pyramid and collected his small earnings.
“Great job.” Sammy congratulated, “Let’s get going.”
The games continued throughout the day, as they did every day. Sammy always had a good time, unlike Vince Sinsin. But that day was different. Vince held the money in the air and shouted in triumph. They stared at the sign as it faded like all the others, taking the world with it.
Sammy walked away and nearly forgot Vince. He came back to his friend, concerned that he still stood in front of a sign that led to nothing.
“What’s wrong?” Sammy asked, showing more concern than he had in months.
“Don’t be mad?” Vince asked.
Sammy’s smile disappeared. “What is it?” he pushed in frustration.
“There’s a new beta test tomorrow that no one knows about.” Vince explained, “It’s one or two players, and the reward is two grand.”
Vince’s last words trembled as Sammy grabbed and shook his friend.
“Are you kidding me V?” Sammy shouted as he continued shaking. Suddenly, he stopped and looked around. His Hope Creek neighbors stared at them.
He felt it immediately, the whispers whirling around them. Why did they fight? Did Vince steal his lover? Did Vince take his money? Were they lovers? Would they ever speak to each other again? Before the questions piled on and spilled out of their mouths, Sammy released his friend.
“Want to come for dinner?” Sammy asked.
A short silent walk later, they arrived at Sammy’s home. He always played the host, getting the best snacks and pieces of entertainment. He slipped the two-layer cheese pizza in the oven and sat next to Vince on the leather couch.
“Where’s your mom?” Vince asked.
“Out on business,” Sammy replied snippy quick. “Now tell me about this new game? Is it a shooter?”
“Two shooters,” Vince smiled.
Sammy stopped eyes alit. Halfway to turning on the television, he stopped.
“Two,” he said slowly and clearly, making sure he heard right.
“Dad wants to extend the game world, and he wants to do it with two shooting games. He wants the testers to really get into it, so he’s combining ‘Army of the Dead’ with ‘Martian Gun’ as a trial run.”
Sammy walked to the kitchen to grab the pizza. Excitement ran through his body. Two of the most intense shooter games combined into one? There was no way he could miss the opportunity. He took out their meal and brought it back into the living room.
“Is it ready yet?” Sammy asked.
“No, but he’s programming it into two of the signs tonight.”
Sammy cocked his head to the side and stuffed a slice into his mouth. Two signs for one game had never been done.
“Are you going to go in to test it?” Sammy asked. He wanted a yes. He stared into his friend eyes, trying his best to coerce affirmation without words.
“No,” Vince responded, “I don’t know what goes on when the first tests are programmed.”
“Chicken,” Sammy challenged. He knew it was juvenile and predictable, but he had no other tactic.
He spent the rest of the afternoon trying his best to talk Vince into going in the game. Vince wouldn’t budge. In spite of Vince’s sturdy resistance, the two friends had fun watching television and eating their height in snacks and desserts. At the end of the day, they were best friends, always looking out for each other, always there when the other needed.
The sun dropped below the horizon and made way for the night sky. Sammy looked outside. The night was uncomfortable. No stars sparkled in the sky.
The moon, however, glowed so strong Sammy didn’t need lights. It hovered close, as if with a little effort, it could be plucked from the air. In spite of the T.V.’s noise and the illumination, Vince slept soundly on Sammy’s sofa.
“Vince,” he called, gently shaking his friend.
“Vince!”
He grinned. Now was his chance to be the first. He won many shooting games, but he’d never been the first to enter a virtual world. He always wondered what it’d feel like, crossing the bridge to the newest realm of reality. He tiptoed around the house, turning off the television and grabbing all his drinks.
“Vince,” he called one more time. Not a stir, not a break in the pattern of Vince’s breathing. He grabbed his keys and walked out of the house. The door quietly clicked behind him.
Hope Creek was far different in the day than the night. During the day, the streets moved busier than usual, bustling with people, life and commerce. He walked alone in the street. Coyote howls rang through the night. He jumped.
“Coyotes? Really?” He sighed. “Well it is Kansas after all.”
The dust collected on his shoes as he moved through the windy vortex. It was dark, even in the watchful eye of the full moon. Its faint, golden glow made him uneasy, but he wished there was more.
He looked through each of the portals. Every sign was blank, leading to nothing but the flat wilderness. The green grass shimmered in the moonlight, beckoning him back and forth.
He tried everything he could think of. He walked to each sign, one by one. When that didn’t work, he crisscrossed the streets. Then every other, then he waited. No matter what he tried, he was alone. He didn’t like being alone in simulations or reality.
With nothing else to do, he sat in the middle of the town and stared off into the distance. He saw it, the well-lit laboratory where Carl Sinsin oversaw the multitude of astounding creations.
He followed the trail of lights running throughout the building. It was normal. He heard from Vince that the building’s lights never went out.
“The Game Town lab is larger than this village.” He said, remembering spots of information of brochures.
“Y
our games aren’t bigger than me!” He shouted.
His voice echoed, as if it tried to reach the programmers and taunt them. It’d been a long time since he lost a shooter game. Another notch in his belt…he looked forward to it.
As if the laboratory responded, two paralleled gates opened simultaneously. He watched for the signs to change, to name the world he’d be the first to defeat. The night was cool, windy, but it couldn’t stop the sweat trickling down his face.
“What is your name?” He asked. “Come on! Tell me.”
The letters came, one-by-one, like a finger reaching down to write. Sammy waited, not wanting to incorrectly guess the name. For some reason, he felt he’d lose if he was wrong. The letters continued appearing at leisure. After a challenging thirty seconds, the game’s name was finally found.
Zombies and Martians
“Well that’s original,” Sammy said, sarcasm dripping in each syllable. He stood and waited, not wanting to appear too eager. Everything had to be perfect, to show he was the best. The game wanted him; he knew it.
“Alright,” he said after he decided the wait was over. The sign’s letters had to be dismembered fingers. “Nice,” he grinned, impressed. He didn’t bother taking the dirt off his shoes. He wanted proof when he told Vince he beat another one of his dad’s games. Without another word, he crossed the barrier and entered the game.
His first reaction: confusion. The sign hovered behind him, but Hope Creek stretched in front of him. The same golden moon, the same dark, starless night, it was as if he never entered the realm. He checked the sign again; he was in the game.
He walked down the streets he swore he just saw and looked around for weapons. There was always a weapons locker in the shooter games.
He made his way to his house, tempted to knock on the door. Before he went to his virtual home, a chest caught his attention. It was grey, metal, with six locks surrounding it. Sammy inspected the strange box. Each lock was controlled by a dial that ranged from zero to nine. It was obvious a number code unlocked his precious weapons cache.
