by RJ Creed
But what was I going to do about it? No one had ever been more understanding, or offered more than my stupid best friend had, so I wasn’t exactly going anywhere.
I guess I just decided a long time ago that I was going to have to get used to being second best. At the very best. At whatever I tried. I was never going to be first while Luke was around. And I had no particular interest in life without a friendship as good as this one. So I was stuck.
Things could be worse.
We all tilted our heads back, and I could almost feel the burn of the liquid in my throat. This thing was so close to being realistic; I could hardly believe it. I tried to pull one of the girls over to dancefloor, but she giggled and shook her head, which was a disappointment. That was all I had over Luke: I was a pretty good dancer.
So, obviously the universe had felt it was important to take that away from me a few years ago, so that again I would have nothing.
I was starting to get really bitter, as I often did after a night out in one of these bars, so I turned to Luke and gave him the eyes. The ones you shoot to your buddy when you’re really not feeling it and you’re thinking of taking off. Around us, music thumped and people bobbed. Not a single unattractive person in this joint, and yet I just didn’t feel any semblance of self-confidence. I wasn’t going to get laid or anything, so I thought I may as well go back.
“You thinking of heading off, man?” Luke asked, away from the girls. I shrugged a little.
“Maybe, don’t know if I’m feeling it. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. You came out for a few hours, that’s all I wanted. Thanks for celebrating with me.”
“It’s an amazing accomplishment. Your second ad campaign, and this one you’re right beside a full-fledged A-lister. It’s amazing, dude, congrats.”
He grinned at me. “Thanks,” he said again. “Feels great. I feel like running a mile, you know?” His face paled as he realised what he had just said, and I waved him away as we strolled towards the big double doors to the bar.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ve told you things like that don’t bother me,” I said. But Luke wasn’t the kind of guy to say things without worrying they might upset other people. He was good at getting what he wanted without stepping on anyone’s toes, that was for sure. That was probably why he had chosen that ‘power’ symbol tattoo for his wrist. Discreet, unassuming, but very much there.
“Is something bothering you, Matt?” he asked.
“I’m just bummed out I haven’t been able to find a job and we graduated, what? Four months ago?” I shrugged again as if to pretend I didn’t really care, but I obviously did. Why couldn’t I find any work?
“Have you thought about the paths you’re trying to go down?” he asked, raising his voice as the music changed and became even more oppressive — normally I love club music, but I was really not feeling anything that wasn’t my bed back home. “You know technology and computer stuff is just so saturated right now.”
I nodded slowly. He was right. Everyone was in tech, and everyone was a computer genius. I wasn’t special. I hadn’t thought I was. “What should I try to go into?” I yelled over the drum beat. “Acting?” I joked.
“Labour or something is always hiring,” he said leaning against a wall, and then he screwed up his face with guilt.
“Dude, I told you, it’s fine,” I was quick to assure him.
“Yeah, sorry, it’s just seeing you like this…”
“I know.” I smiled. “Anyway, I can’t do labour even if I were able. My muscles are purely aesthetic.” I pushed up my shirt to expose my six pack and he rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m off now,” I said. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Course, thanks again for coming out,” he said, raising his empty shot glass to me and smirking.
“See ya,” I said, needlessly repeating goodbyes as I scrolled through the menu screen. I reached out and tapped on the floating ‘Log Out’ and my haptic glove in real life vibrated to make it seem like I was touching something real, as ever.
Everything went black, and then I slowly opened my eyes.
My real eyes.
They were dry and uncomfortable and I groaned audibly as I hauled myself out of bed and onto my chair. I needed some water. When it came to virtual reality I always found myself caught in the dilemma of being too thirsty when I returned, or risking staying too long and wetting the bed. The latter hadn’t happened to me yet, but I already had issues with the nerve endings in my lower body.
Once securely in my chair I ran my hands over the wheels and glided smoothly through the dark and dingy one-bedroom flat so conveniently close to the university I had already graduated from, and into the kitchen. I always liked the way the wheels clicked over the threshold and made a different noise on the linoleum.
I reached up high for a glass and rolled my way to the tap. I hadn’t always been in a wheelchair; I wasn’t born this way. Luke and I had had an extreme sports phase, and I had tied a knot wrong when rock climbing one day. I’d landed with my spine squarely on a goddamn rock. I can still remember the pain. Sometimes the memory keeps me up at night — it’s the kind of pain that transcends time itself.
But when I went into my VR games, my brain could happily pretend I had fully working legs again. It was pretty miraculous, I had to admit. In some more advanced software I could even feel below my waist again, if a little … dulled.
The Afterlife was my favourite game because it was the closest I had ever come to feeling like I truly had a working lower body since my accident. Bryson Mayer was a goddamn genius. I had posters up, and I spent most of my time in the game.
If was going to be honest with myself — just for a moment — then a big reason I didn’t have a good job yet, despite having a great degree and a repertoire of relevant skills … was because I just couldn’t stomach the thought of being outside The Afterlife for too long. I would apply for a job and reward myself with six hours in the game. Then I’d finally feel a little guilty, or worry that I might need to piss in real life, and I’d come back and eat and apply for another. Repeat forever.
I scooted to my VR hub and tapped on it to check my credits. 800 left. I blew out some air. I actually needed some money soon or I wouldn’t be able to afford in-game luxuries like shots of sambuca. And if I did buy things like that, I shouldn’t just immediately port back to reality where I would no longer feel the effects of any alcohol. I was wasting my life. I had no more spare cash to transfer into credits.
I leaned back and readjusted my feet before typing a message to Luke to apologise. He came back instantly, so I figured he had unplugged and gone back home too. I turned to look out the window to give the real world outside a scowl. It was, in a way, the pollution that had crippled me like this. My oxygen mask had slipped while we were climbing that mountain and I hadn’t had the time or the hands to fix it. My vision blurred, I slipped, and the knot wasn’t tied right. I could have died.
I was lucky I hadn’t. I had to remember that sometimes, instead of blaming everything in the world but me for what had happened.
‘I have to stop spending money until I find a job,’ I tapped out to Luke, and hesitated before pressing ‘send’ because I knew it would just upset him, but I felt I had to make the point anyway.
‘Why not move back in with the mother?’ he asked.
‘Because of the stepfather. He still hates me.’
‘Pfft.’
I let myself smile at his reply, then tap out some more. ‘Maybe should start to prioritise real experiences over virtual ones, anyway??’
Luke lingered over his response but it came through after a minute. ‘Virtual experiences are just as real as reality if they feel real. My uncle has a great spiel about all that shit.’
I smirked. His uncle was a coder for Mayer Enterprises. That was, of course, the only reason I had been able to get a copy of The Afterlife at all. There was no way I’d be able to get my hands on something that expensive otherwise.
>
‘Legend,’ I typed noncommittally.
‘Smog looks a bit clearer than it did yesterday.’
I heard this a lot from people, but to be honest I never saw it. It was always swirling, circling, or lifting into the sky in plumes. It was horrific. I didn’t respond, and he sent me another message.
‘Have I mentioned I’m freaking out about those S&S beta reviews?’
I sat up straighter. ‘They’re out??’ I responded with a smile on my face. He had talked about literally nothing else for months.
‘SERIOUSLY THOUGH? Shit is INTENSE. It’s so realistic that people actually cried in his arms when he pulled them from the beta. People are saying it makes the real world look like it’s in greyscale. Omg. I cannot wait.’
I wondered how best to put this. I hated the thought that Luke might think I was ever using him, but … it had to be said, there were some serious perks to his friendship. ‘I need this game.’
‘I’m on it. I heard someone was giving out free codes like candy on some forum but the poster deleted his account and my uncle can’t seem to get any.’
‘I mean…… lean on him,’ I said. I had heard some seriously crazy things about this game. That the game world was actually bigger than the Earth, and there was stuff to do in every nook and cranny of it. That the creators hadn’t physically placed each object, but set the world in motion years ago and watched it grow. How incredible is that? My heart pounded every time I thought about it. People were saying that it made The Afterlife look like Space Invaders.
‘Could just save up for it I guess,’ I wrote, though I knew it would cost me half a month’s wages at any job I was likely to get, at the very least. It’d be a blow, but I was one hundred percent sure it would be worth it.
‘Did you look up how much this one costs?’
Aw, shit. No. I headed over to search for the answer on another tab and the figure was bold at the top of my screen. I nearly retched. I nearly fell out of my chair. Not half a month of a graduate salary. No.
Try fifteen fucking years of a graduate salary.
I covered my mouth and shook my head, then went back to type to Luke. ‘Noo,’ I said. ‘Why?’
‘Because dude … it’s not a game. It’s a new life.’ There was a long pause where I hoped he was happy about what he had just said. Because it had made me mad for some reason. ‘The money goes to fund the x3 planet shit. Your body goes into storage. So you’re giving up your life savings or life insurance, I’m not sure. Then when you come back from living in the game you go back to your body and they fly you all to join the rest of the people over on x3.’
For a life outside of this one — living in the hell humanity has created on Earth — I would pay all that money and more. If I had it.
Shit.
‘Listen. Listen. I just got an email back. He says he might have a way we can get in!’
‘For ten years?’
‘No dude just to test it. Poke around. For FREE.’
I chewed on my lip hard. Just poke around? I knew myself. I was going to spend the next week in that world, coming out only to eat and drink and go to the bathroom. I couldn’t wait. If I could have, I’d have been squirming in my seat.
‘Everyone who pays gets to test it for a bit. Then if they hate it they get a full refund, and have a week to opt out and go back to reality. We can just go for the week and opt out but without paying the upfront fee he says.’
I read and reread his message. It was too good to be true. But just a week? Of the greatest experience any of those testers had ever had? Ever?
I knew one thing: it was going to be really, really hard to unplug myself when the time came.
2
Canterbury, England – four days until the Exodus
I sat in front of the VR hub with my hands clutching the headset and my eyes on Luke, who sat calmly in front of his own. We were in a part of the Mayer building that Luke’s uncle, Carl, told us people didn’t normally go to. It had been a testing room for VR tech so it was fully stocked with meds and IVs and the like, but the building was so freaking huge and this particular testing room was so unused that nobody was likely to come in in the next week. That’s what Carl told us, anyway.
We had to believe him. Mayer uses a specific type of technology that means the body and consciousness sort of temporarily … separate. Which means for one thing that you can experience all parts of life through the brain in-game, because it’s an incredible, magical organ, but also that force-unplugging someone who is in-game can have really disastrous effects. There are reports of people who are paralysed afterwards. Completely. I think one guy died from it. It’s scary stuff.
And I have to admit, it’s one of the reasons I wanted to live alone. No risk of that stuff happening. But here, in the Mayer building, they all know that stuff. So even if someone happens upon my and Luke’s bodies in here, they can’t unplug us or force us to come out. They have to wait until the week is up and we come out voluntarily.
But being in this separate, secluded room will mean that it is less likely we’ll wake up back in the real world and be in trouble, so that’s something.
“You guys excited?” Carl asked, pacing back and forth and peering at the screens.
‘Spectres & Skin’ hovered in front of me in the air by the hub and I popped on my headset and looked at it closer. It suddenly looked amazing. A three dimensional splash screen depicting the most beautiful landscape I had ever seen in movies or in pictures. It showed a sloping hill dotted with vibrant, exotic flowers. Hyper-realistic trees waved in a silent breeze and in the background a clear blue sea with dots of faraway boats turned into foamy surf on a faraway beach.
I was going to go there.
I was going to take my shoes off and plunge my toes into the sand, and feel it again. I could not wait.
“Uh, you ready?” Carl asked. “You sure?”
Luke laughed. “We’re ready, jeez!” He leaned back with a grin. “Matt? You ready?”
I lifted the headset, feeling that my cheeks were coloured with excitement. “I’m so ready,” I said. “A week in paradise?”
Luke nodded once, looking right at me. “Shall we try to meet up?”
“Definitely,” I said.
Carl lifted a finger and wrinkled his nose. “Actually … your starting position will be determined by a little quiz. And it’s a good quiz, if I can just toot on my own horn for a second. You’re not the exact same person so you probably won’t end up in the exact same starting place.”
A quiz to determine your starting position? I thought about it, and actually it was a pretty cool idea. I thought back to the scene I’d seen and I couldn’t decide if I’d prefer to be up in the crow’s nest of a huge pirate ship, searching for treasure and dispatching foes, or just … picking apples in an orchard somewhere.
Wherever I started off, I was sure I’d find something to enjoy. Something simple
“It’s like we’re going on vacation,” Luke declared. “OK — is there a landmark we could try to meet at, Carl?”
Carl thought about it. “I mean … your starting location could be anywhere in the most civilised landmass we have. That’s like if someone asked ‘where should we meet in Africa? But … without transportation.’”
“If you had to pick somewhere,” Luke pressed.
“Alright. If you are in the South, get to Dawnspire. Meet outside the spire itself, it’s huge,” he said.
“And the North?” I asked.
Carl grinned at me. “If you’re in the North … well, you’d want to meet at the castle.”
I nodded at Luke who nodded right back. We had it. It might take us all week to find each other, but at least I would have some sort of direction when I got there, instead of wandering aimlessly. And playing a game like this one with a friend, and with full use of my body, would be a lot of fun. I couldn’t wait, and we were only seconds away.
“OK. You’re ready, guys?” he asked again. “Anything else you need to kn
ow?”
“Yes, give us some cheats,” I called over, and he pretended to swat the back of my head. “There are no cheats. There is only praying to RNGesus. You might roll well or you might roll badly. That’s the hand you’re dealt. Kinda like real life.”
“C’mon, Carl, we’re only there for a week. How do we optimise our characters to get the most out of it in a short time?” Luke pushed.
Carl shrugged slightly. “Alright, well, I guess you’re coming back out again, so there’s not much harm in a little something. There’s … an extra set of questions in the quiz that I programmed in. It was just meant to be for staff working on the project who wanted to go in, for a bit of a boost.”
“What’s the boost?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“It’ll depend on your starting faction,” he said. “When the game asks you your favourite TV series, tell it ‘the second season of Firefly’. You’ll unlock extra questions. Answer them honestly. And don’t tell anyone I told you that. Good luck, boys. Try not to die. Hurts like a bitch. And put skill into Stealth. Bye!”
I pulled my headset back over my head and looked at the beautiful landscape. The boats had completely changed position, and so had the clouds. I wondered if it was on a loop or if I was actually looking through a real-time window to one part of the game.
Now text appeared under the name of the game.
Spectres & Skin.
Bryson Mayer was a weird-ass guy for calling his his pet project such a weird-ass name.
LOG IN
I reached out and touched it and the haptic glove thudded as I made contact, tricking my brain into thinking there was an actual surface against my finger. I grinned, unable to help myself, knowing that when I was logged in fully it would be sending signals directly to and from my brain itself, not my real life body. It would go straight to the source, and input information in, well, almost exactly the same way that real life did.
I licked my lips and that was the last I felt of my real body before everything went dark and I was floating. The background noises — Luke and Carl and the machinery — was gone, like it had never existed.
