OtherEarth

by Jason Segel

  “Yeah?” I ask, my fingers ready to reach for my dagger. I’d be even ruder if it weren’t for the battle-axe.

  “Simon, it’s me.”

  I groan. “Good God, Elvis. This is pathetic. What are you? Twelve years old?”

  “Don’t give me a hard time, dickhead,” Elvis says, gazing adoringly at his enormous bosoms. He hasn’t bothered to change his voice, and the combination is goddamn disturbing. “I’ve been stuck in the middle of nowhere for six whole months. By the way, this tech is fantastic. My boobs feel amazing. Just like the real things, I bet. They are cumbersome, though. You really have to respect the ladies. How do they manage to run or play sports?”

  “Go back right now and get rid of the giant boobs,” I order. “And toss the axe, too. I told you to choose fire as your weapon. We’ll need it in the ice cave. Go! You have ten seconds.”

  Elvis gives me an exaggerated once-over. “Maybe you should come back to setup with me,” he snips. “Your avatar could use a little work too. I think you could do a lot better than a farmhand with a fur fetish.”

  My avatar never changes. Black shirt, black pants, brown cloak. In preparation for the ice fields, I’ve donned a thick fur coat. The body inside the ensemble is identical to my own.

  “I’m a Druid, you moron,” I bark. Of all people, I would have expected him to recognize the costume. “Just go, would you?”

  The avatar rolls her anime-size eyes. “You’re not a Druid. You’re a petty tyrant,” she informs me in Elvis’s voice. Then she disappears.

  While Elvis is changing into something more appropriate, I hear a shot behind me. I spin around and peer through the gates. The road that leads to the entrance of Imra cuts straight through the workers’ town, which is currently eerily quiet. The last time I was here, there were hundreds of non-player characters going about their business. Now the place appears to be empty, though it’s pretty clear that the inhabitants didn’t wander off. I don’t see any bodies, but the brick walls of the buildings look wet with what I’m starting to realize is probably blood. I hear a spray of machine-gun fire, and I suddenly know what’s happening. A headset player has gone on a rampage. He’s slaughtering the NPCs one by one. I feel the rage begin to swell inside me. What kind of psycho massacres characters that weren’t designed to fight back?

  The answer appears right in front of me. A muscle-bound avatar with a buzz cut darts across the road from one building and presses his back against another on the opposite side. His bulging biceps strain against the sleeves of a black T-shirt that’s neatly tucked into camouflage pants. The guy is GI Joe pumped up on a cocktail of meth and steroids. There’s a crazy smile on his face as he waits for someone to round the corner. A few seconds later, a female NPC appears in the intersection. She’s a standard model, pretty and bland. GI Joe points the gun to her head. She looks at him in confusion. There’s no fear on her face. This is not what is meant to happen. I turn away just as the shot is fired. When I glance back up, there’s a bright red stain on the road, but the female’s body is already gone.

  Of course Elvis chooses this moment to reappear. His avatar is a perfect copy of his real-world body. He’s dressed in a long sable coat and matching fur hat. A torch is tucked into his waistband. I grab him by the collar and drag him behind one of the pillars that frame the gates.

  “Hey!” he cries. “What the hell, Simon! That hurt!” Then there’s a moment of reverent silence. “It hurt. Oh my God, it hurt! This tech is amazing!”

  “Shut up,” I hiss. “There’s a guy killing everyone inside.”

  Elvis peeks around the pillar. “Well, that’s not very nice, is it? Let’s go take him out,” he says. “Come on. We’ve got time for a bit of fun, don’t we?”

  Apparently none of my warnings have managed to make an impression. “This is not a game, dipshit! If that guy shoots us, we’ll die!” How many times does he need to be told before it sinks into his head? Would it make any difference if I spoke in Ukrainian?

  “Riiiiiiight,” Elvis says, pulling his head back from around the corner. “Then I think we may have a problem.”

  “That dude saw you, didn’t he?” I groan.

  “Yeah,” Elvis says. “Sorry about that. He’s coming this way.”

  We can’t make a run in the direction of the ice fields. There’s nowhere to take cover—not even a rock large enough to hide one of us. The killer could stand at the top of the mountain and take leisurely shots until both of our avatars are riddled with bullet holes.

  “There?” Elvis asks.

  He’s pointing to the right of the gates, at a dense wall of foliage that I assumed was decorative. But now I can see a wooden roof poking out from the top. There must be something beyond the greenery. We run for cover but find the vegetation impenetrable. Thick green ivy vines have twisted together to form a wall. I pull my dagger out of my boot and start hacking away. But every time I manage to cut through one of the thick stems, a new vine immediately snakes out of the ground and takes its place. These are no ordinary plants. Like everything else in here, they’re mutants that have little in common with their Earth-dwelling counterparts.

  A bullet whizzes past my ear. “Let me,” Elvis insists. His torch ignites and he steps forward, shoving the blaze at the ivy. The vines curl back, desperate to escape the heat, and a narrow passage opens in front of us. We step inside and the wall of foliage closes behind us. We can hear GI Joe spraying the vines with a shower of bullets, but we never get hit. Nature has formed a protective cocoon around our avatars. “See?” Elvis says cockily. “I get us into trouble and I get us right back out again.”

  His bragging makes me nervous. I’m not convinced we’re out of the woods just yet. Some of the vines seem to have scales. The fire is still holding most of them back. But then I feel a flicker against my cheek, then another on my ear. I yank my foot away from a tendril that’s trying to creep up my pant leg. The ivy is getting bolder.

  Elvis stops. “Do you hear that?” he asks.

  I do. The sound is soft enough that I might have mistaken it for the wind. But it’s not. It’s hissing. “Keep walking,” I urge Elvis. “Don’t stop again.”

  “Where was the snake that was making that sound?” he whispers, moving fast with the torch held out in front of him. “Did you see it?”

  The snake. What a joke. I’d laugh if I weren’t going to die. Elvis is about to get his second lesson in Otherworld survival. Suddenly all the vines around us are writhing. “You mean snakes,” I say.

  The tip of one of the vines whips toward me. I lop it off with my dagger and a fanged head falls at my feet.

  “What the—” Elvis starts to say.

  “Shut up and run!” I shout.

  Elvis leads the way, slicing through the air with his torch like a master swordsman. This is hardly the first game he and I have played together. I knew he was a genius with handheld controls, but this shit is ridiculous. I can smell the burning flesh of snake vines that have gotten too close. It’s not an entirely unpleasant odor. I wish I’d eaten a bigger breakfast.

  Then the vines suddenly part and we find ourselves standing out in the open, with a wooden cottage in front of us. I turn around in time to see the passageway disappear. All that’s left is a solid mass of slithering scales, fangs and muscle.

  Elvis is bent over, panting. “What the hell are those?” he asks.

  “Unintended consequences,” I say. “Digital DNA mixes easily in Otherworld. I’ve seen a few crazy combinations, but this is my first plant-animal hybrid. I didn’t even know it was possible.”

  “Anything is possible in Otherworld!” A movie-star-handsome NPC appears at the entrance of a tiny Swiss-style cottage with a steeply pitched roof and overflowing flower boxes. The NPC is wearing lederhosen—leather shorts with leather suspenders—along with knee-high socks and boots. He’s topped off the outfit with a dorky ha
t, complete with feather. Then again, who am I to judge? I’m sure Elvis and I look equally ridiculous.

  The cottage stands at the entrance to what appears to be some kind of amusement park. The structures behind it have been overtaken by the ivy. Monstrous green forms loom over the three of us. It’s impossible to say what any of them might once have been.

  “Welcome to Gimmelwald,” the big blond NPC says cheerfully with a slight German accent. “My name is Gunter. Are you here for a tour of our child care facilities?”

  “Child care facilities? We just walked through a wall of snakes,” I say. “I hope you’re not expecting a bunch of kids to show up here anytime soon.”

  “So you’re not in need of our services?” Gunter asks.

  “We aren’t looking for a babysitter, if that’s what you’re asking,” Elvis says.

  Gunter appears disappointed by the news, and I wonder if the NPCs ever get bored. “Then may I ask why you are here?”

  “Someone was trying to kill us,” Elvis tells him. “We came in here to hide.”

  “You were being chased by another guest just now?” Gunter inquires.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Gunter appears genuinely upset by the situation. “I do apologize. Everything has changed so much. Our realm is no longer what the Creator intended it to be. Some of—”

  Elvis puts a hand up. “I’m sorry, can you hold on just one second, Gunter?” he says. “I need a quick word with my colleague.” Then he leans over with his lips near my ear. “Isn’t this guy an NPC?” he whispers.

  I nod.

  “But it doesn’t seem like he’s sticking to a script. He’s improvising,” Elvis says. “That means—”

  “Yeah,” I say. There’s no doubt that Gunter is the most advanced AI that Elvis has ever encountered. But he hasn’t seen anything yet. I’ll let him figure that out for himself. “That means it’s probably a good idea not to be rude.”

  When Elvis looks back at Gunter, his avatar’s eyes are wide with wonder. “I apologize for interrupting,” he says. “You were saying?”

  “I was about to say that some of the guests these days can be quite unpleasant. But you’re safe with us. There’s no need to worry about anyone following you into Gimmelwald. Please,” Gunter says, gesturing toward the cottage. “Come inside for some cocoa. You’re our first visitors since the incident. How did you make it inside, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Fire,” I say as we follow Gunter into the little house. I’d ask him about the incident he just mentioned, but we don’t have time for a story.

  I step into the cottage and have a look around, which takes all of two seconds. The place is the size of a large playhouse, and if I had to guess, I’d say Gunter’s interior decorator was a six-year-old Swiss girl.

  “It sounds like you got very lucky,” says Gunter. “The vines may fear fire, but there are many beasts here who would happily risk being burned for a meal.”

  “Beasts?” I ask. “What kind of beasts do you have in Gimmelwald?”

  “I don’t really know,” the NPC replies cheerfully. “By now there could be almost anything in our forests. That is why I choose to stay in the cottage.” There’s a tiny stove in the corner. Gunter turns a burner on low and begins to fill a pot with milk.

  “No cocoa for me, please,” I tell him.

  “Or me, thanks,” Elvis chimes in.

  “No?” Gunter seems heartbroken for a moment. Then he discovers his cloud’s silver lining. “Oh well, more for me!” His life—if that’s what you’d call it—must suck. No wonder he was happy to see us.

  “So you stay here in this cottage all the time?” Elvis asks.

  “It’s either that or be eaten by the beasts,” Gunter replies.

  “Why are there man-eating beasts here in Gimmelwald?” Elvis asks. “I thought you said this realm was meant to be for kids?”

  “Oh, it was,” Gunter says. “The Creator knew many of our adult guests wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving their young offspring unattended at home. So he designed several realms that would allow human children to experience the wonders of Otherworld. But the few guests we’ve greeted here have all been adults. And some of them were quite unsavory.”

  The image of child-size capsules pops into my mind. I wonder if the Company was planning to offer family discount plans. Mom and Dad could live out their homicidal fantasies while the “offspring” were coddled by NPCs.

  “It’s a pity. Gimmelwald was meant to be the ultimate petting zoo,” Gunter continues, gesturing to the wild world beyond the cottage. “Our beasts were designed to be docile enough to cuddle and ride. There were lambs and goats and ponies, of course. But there were also bears and wolves and wild boars. Unfortunately, none of them have stayed tame. The Children were able to keep them under control, but now that the Children are gone, the beasts have free rein.”

  “Children?” Elvis looks over at me. “What children? You said no kids ever came here.”

  He thinks Gunter is talking about little humans. I suppose I should have given him a heads-up about the Children. “Remember what I said about digital DNA? The Children are what happens when you mix beasts—the animals that Milo created for the game—with the Elementals that rule Otherworld’s realms.”

  Elvis’s jaw drops. “Wait, are you saying the Elementals and the beasts—” I once got scolded for asking the same question. I’m glad to know I’m not the only one with a dirty mind.

  “No,” I assure him. “I don’t know exactly how it worked, but supposedly there wasn’t any sex involved. Before the Company fixed the bug, hybrid babies kept popping up all over the place.”

  “Our Elemental once had dozens of Children,” Gunter announces proudly. “A few of them belonged to the Creator as well.”

  “The Creator?” Elvis massages his temples as if he’s worried his head might explode.

  “The Creator was Milo Yolkin’s avatar. Milo was in Otherworld before anyone else, and he really got around. He mixed his digital DNA with pretty much everything here,” I explain. Then I turn back to Gunter. “So where are the Children of Gimmelwald now?” I ask.

  Gunter instantly clams up. Despite the pleasant conversation, we still haven’t won his confidence. “They are in a safe place,” he says.

  “Good.” As long as he’s sure the Children are safe, I have no interest in digging any further. “Glad to hear it. So how do my friend and I get out of here? We’re on a mission and we don’t have much time left.”

  “You’re free to leave this realm at any time,” Gunter tells us.

  “Okay, maybe I should rephrase my friend’s question,” Elvis says. “How do we get out without getting eaten by some kind of mutant beast?”

  “Oh, I’m afraid you will both be consumed shortly after you leave this cottage,” Gunter tells us. “It may be unpleasant, but once the kill is registered your avatar will return to setup. If that option does not appeal to you, perhaps suicide would be preferable?”

  I can’t believe I let Elvis and Busara talk me into this shit. I should have listened to Kat. From now on, no one’s coming back to this hellhole with a disk on. “No,” I tell Gunter. “We can’t let our avatars die. We’re not like the other guests. This isn’t a game for us.”

  “Then perhaps you should speak to Volla,” the NPC says. “She is the Elemental who rules this realm.”

  “How the hell are we going to speak to Volla without leaving this house?” I demand.

  “Hey.” I feel Elvis tapping my shoulder. “Naked lady alert, three o’clock,” he whispers.

  Outside the window, at the edge of the forest, a woman is rising from the ground. Her skin is the color of rich, dark soil, and the hair that cascades over her shoulders and chest is composed of braided vines. When she finally steps out of the earth, she stands at least seven feet tall, with curves that
no earth woman could possibly possess. I’m sure Elvis would love to know if her boobs are equally impressive, but she’s holding something against her chest.

  Gunter guides us outside and greets the Elemental with a reverent bow.

  “These two guests would like to leave, but they don’t want their avatars to die. They claim they are not like the others.”

  “All guests are the same.” Volla moves toward us, shedding a fine layer of dirt with each step. Her voice is soft, like a rushing stream or the rustling of leaves. “They come here to kill and torture and abuse. They do not deserve any mercy.” She stops and glares down at Elvis and me. “Your kind has inflicted great pain upon the residents of Otherworld, and yet you refuse to suffer a single moment of unpleasantness?”

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but I just got here,” Elvis says. “I swear I haven’t inflicted any pain on anyone yet.”

  “You burned my ivy,” Volla says. “You don’t imagine it feels any pain?”

  Elvis actually stops for a moment and seems to ponder the idea. “Wow,” he replies. “You know, that’s actually a really great question. Might end up keeping me awake for a couple of nights. But for now all I can say is I acted in self-defense. I only burned the vines because they were trying to kill me.”

  “They’ve seen guests enter my realm and slaughter many of my Children. They’ve witnessed the rest of my offspring being taken away for their own protection. The vines were gentle once. They changed into what they’ve become to repel humans like you.”

  I wonder if the slaughter is the incident Gunter mentioned earlier. I’m about to ask when Volla shifts and I finally see what’s in her arms. It’s a tiny creature covered in pale green scales. It looks like a baby, but I must be mistaken. Milo Yolkin fixed the bad code that was responsible for the Children. There shouldn’t be any babies here in Otherworld.

  “Is that one of your Children?” I ask, moving toward her for a closer look.