Gaming the System

by P A Wikoff

  “Hey, what’s going on?” I asked, my breath fogging up the spot where I spoke. When I got no response, I banged twice on the clear barrier that separated us. “Where are they taking me?”

  A haggard-looking nurse put her index finger to her lips. Dark circles hung below her eyes. She would have been pretty, if she only had a little beauty sleep. She was wearing a white, anti-static robe, similar to the other doctor types, except she had a strange tool on top of her head.

  No one else flinched at my actions. Even a digital fish would have responded if I had pounded on its tank. Instead, they just continued on with their studies, experiments, or whatever it was they were doing. I could have sworn I spotted one guy making an origami statue.

  I lingered a little too long against the glass, and out of nowhere a powerful zap got me directly on the shoulder. The sensation had gone from being surprisingly annoying to downright painful.

  “Oh, come on!” I snapped. I guess I can’t talk to these people either. This is cruel injustice.

  Ever since I got caught, I hadn’t been able to talk to anyone except my assigned FAQ. This included my parents. During my booking, they denied me my right to the one email that was normally allowed after being arrested. This was due to the hacking charge against me, only I didn’t know it then. I put two and two together during my trial. They had deemed me a security risk, and I didn’t even know it until after the fact. That is how messed up our system is—black and white, ones and zeros, no room for grey areas.

  More than anything, I wanted to have a few words with my parents. Maybe not even a full sentence. Just one simple word: “Sorry.” Every time I thought about them, I felt a nervous pain inside my stomach. That was the worst part of this whole thing, the unknown consequences of my selfish actions. Without real information, your mind makes up all kinds of horrible things.

  They needed to know my side, without me being censored. I would have given anything just to know that they didn’t hate me for all the negative press they received during the past month. The last thing I had ever wanted to do was mess up their situation. They had a good life, and I was the only bad thing in it. Well, not anymore.

  Both of my parents didn’t give a single interview. There was no way for me to know if it was out of respect for me, or if they were too ashamed, disappointed, or heartbroken to speak. They stayed silent, even after someone doxed my mother’s character, Thanos, as being played by a female player.

  They didn’t attend my trial. I know this because I occasionally searched for their usernames in the chat rooms, and I never saw either of them logged in. Even if they just screamed at me, it would have been better than the emptiness I couldn’t seem to shake.

  Soon, I had reached the end of the outer room, except it seemed to be a dead end. There was a door, but it didn’t open for me like the others.

  “Okay, prisoner, this is how it is going to go,” one of the doctors addressed me, without making eye contact. In his hand, he had a blue and pink pill, which he tossed into the back of his throat and swallowed dry.

  Prisoner, huh? Not patient?

  “First, I need you to change into the sensory suit that has been provided for you behind the screen over there.” He directed me with a casual flip of his wrist toward some white curtains draped over a couple of poles.

  Everything in the room was stark white. I hadn’t even noticed the changing station was there before he mentioned it. It all kind of blended together.

  Ever since I entered this area, something seemed off. Then it finally hit me. This place had no displays or screens, other than a couple workstations on their side. It was basic and refreshing.

  “Even though you have privacy, there are eight security cameras watching your every move. So, don’t try anything unpredictable. Believe me when I tell you that you’re not clever. We’ve seen it all, and it doesn’t end well for you if you try anything,” his voice boomed over a loudspeaker this time.

  It didn’t matter what I was going through; I could tell by his casual tone that this was a normal day for him. I wondered how many of these they had done before me and how many more he would do before the day was through. More importantly, what was it that they were even doing, anyway? At first, I thought they were going to treat or test my illness. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  I slipped off the prison slippers and proceeded behind the screen. The floor was quite chilly.

  Did they really have that many cameras, and from what angles, or for what purpose? This prompted a couple of thoughts that I wish hadn’t had.

  I quickly removed the rest of my jailhouse garb and replaced it with the undergarments they provided.

  “Excuse me, how long is your hair?” a woman’s voice came over the loudspeaker this time.

  “Uh…this long,” I said, pulling at the roots, not knowing if there was a hidden mic around here somewhere.

  “How long is that?”

  I thought they had a bunch of cameras in here. Not wanting to challenge them into peeking in on me while I was in the middle of changing, I decided to answer the best I could, “Umm, two inches?”

  “That’s fine. Thanks,” she concluded.

  What if it wasn’t fine? Were they going to give me a haircut and a shave?

  I eased into their long-sleeved turtleneck jumper, which had built-in gloves and soft-bottomed shoes. Getting dressed was a lot easier when it was a whole one-piece set. The white jumper was soft inside yet heavy, as if it were filled with lead, or something equally dense. I wasn’t going to complain, because I was toasty warm for some unknown reason.

  “What do you want me to do with these?” I asked, holding my old clothes as I bent down to collect my prison slippers.

  “Throw them in the trash marked ‘biohazard’ next to you,” the same doctor that directed me here said with a nod, as he lit a cigarette.

  Biohazard? That’s a bit excessive.

  Then I remembered my possible illness, and suddenly it seemed almost not excessive enough.

  Why are these doctors breathing the same air as me if I am so sick? And if no one knows what it is, how do they know that I’m not contagious? If it isn’t contagious, how did I get infected in the first place? Unless all of this is part of some elaborate lie. Maybe they know that I am okay but just want me to spend my life in this online prison. That’s a crazy idea. What purpose would it serve? I am a nobody.

  Then I remembered something crucial. Computer programs couldn’t lie. It was their first directive, built into their core system as a precaution when they first started programming code for us. Then again, these were people, although it was also possible that the doctors hadn’t been informed of my condition, if I even had one to be informed about. Digital beings had been known to omit certain facts as a back door to lying.

  After tossing my clothes in the “clearly” marked white biohazard image on an off-white bin, I put my hands up as if to say, “What’s next?”

  The youngest-looking doctor, or nurse, or whatever he was, walked up to the smoking one and whispered something in his ear.

  He took a drag of his cigarette and quickly exhaled. “What? Him?”

  The younger man nodded.

  Everyone else gathered up against the glass with hushed whispers. Suddenly they were interested in me.

  I approached the group in an attempt to eavesdrop on what I could.

  “You sure?” the smoking doctor asked.

  Now that he was looking at his colleague, I noticed a couple circular scars uniformly on his scalp, making bald patches in his hair.

  Everyone else nodded in agreement, as if they were shaking off the urge for a nap.

  Smoke leaked out of the glass holes that separated us. “You’re him, right? The suicide guy?” the doctor asked, this time making eye contact with me.

  “Oh, great,” I muttered to myself. “Fans.” I thought their conversation was going to be useful somehow.

  “Yes, unfortunately so. I mean, I’m not suicidal, but that is what they call m
e, haters or whatever.”

  After a series of hushed words from the other spectators, the smoker came a little closer to me, a wide grin plastered on his face. “I’m Mario.”

  I pressed my hand against the glass, in order to make his acquaintance the only way I knew how under these circumstances.

  It was funny how they couldn’t have cared less until they recognized me. Well, not really funny so much as sad.

  Mario started to extend his hand in a similar fashion, then thought twice about it and, instead, wiped the side of his coat.

  “Seph,” I introduced myself.

  “Can I call you Jim?” Mario asked.

  “Sure. Just Jim though, not any of that other crap.”

  “Just Jim?”

  “I mean…Jim is fine, thanks.”

  “So, what was it like, Jim?”

  “What was what like?”

  “You know, bucking the system the way you did. Watching you…do whatever you wanted. I have to admit, I was quite envious. I mean we all were,” Mario said, taking another puff.

  His companions all nodded with giddy smiles of their own.

  “You’re a true hero around here,” someone in the back chimed in.

  “Not everywhere,” I said, rolling my eyes at my enemies, wherever they may be.

  “Nonsense. Anyone lashing out is just jealous,” the tired nurse said.

  There was a long beat of silence, which seemed to drag on more than it did.

  “So?” One of Mario’s bushy black eyebrows shot up as encouragement.

  “It was the ride of my life,” I said, remembering the flying feeling.

  “I thought so.”

  The happiness started to drain from my expression. “But not worth the hell I’ve been through as a result.”

  “I’ve seen hell. I think you’re okay,” Mario said with a knowing look.

  What did he mean by that?

  Mario waved his hand, and the door at the edge of my outer room opened up, along with a door leading out of his inner room. “Come,” he said, as he took the last drag of his cigarette into his lungs.

  We walked together towards the next room. Before entering, he carefully handed his cigarette butt to someone. The ash was the entire length of the cigarette, about two inches.

  The person grabbed it without a second glance.

  The next room was much different. It had plenty of working bots and machines on the ground, in the air, and even climbing up the walls. They were everywhere. Unlike inside the glass room, this area was very well organized. Glyphs were marked on the floor and walls with arrows and tape. They must have been instructions for the binary workers. It seemed very low tech by even my standards.

  “Sorry for the lack of professionalism. We’ve all been following your case since it aired. It’s not every day you get a celebrity down here.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “Celebrities always get off.”

  I jumped, feeling Mario’s hand patting me on the shoulder a couple times. Up close, his hair was a greasy mess, and he smelled of tobacco and coffee, but it was nice, nevertheless.

  Real contact, that’s different. I realized that besides getting manhandled by the robot bailiff, I hadn’t had any real contact for a solid month.

  “How did it go? I’ve been down here like a mechanical slave all day. We couldn’t catch the end of it.”

  “Um, not good…hello?”

  “True. You wouldn’t be here otherwise,” Mario said, leading me over to a wall filled with imbedded alcoves. Towards the center of the room, there was some sort of rectangular pod that resembled a clear sarcophagus.

  “We had planned on watching a little during break, but that came and went a long time ago,” Mario said, patting down his pockets, no doubt looking for another cigarette. Tucking in his lower lip, he let out a sharp whistle.

  “I didn’t mean to spoil the show for you.”

  “No biggie. I wouldn’t have been able to watch it all anyway. There is always some fire to edit out around here.”

  “If you want a surprise ending, you can always let me walk out of here.”

  Mario stopped for a moment and tilted his head, as if he were considering it.

  “You know, buck the system yourself,” I pressed the point with a sly nudge.

  After a long beat, he shook he head and wagged a finger at me. “Nice try, Jim.”

  I was pleased he was at least a little bit intrigued by my proposition, even though he didn’t take me up on it.

  He snapped his fingers twice, and a bot flew up to him. There was a square thing dangling from its spider-like clutches. It was a piece of glass with a liquid screen painted on one side to create a tablet.

  Mario manipulated the screen and pulled up an electronic chart, giving it a once-over. “Three years isn’t that horrible. Oh, wait. Never mind. That’s unfortunate. You’re going to be here a while. Like, all the ‘whiles,’ with that restitution of five hundred thousand.” He whistled as if to say “wow.”

  “I’m not crazy for thinking that it’s a little high, right?”

  “Yes, but that’s politics for you.”

  “I think it was personal.”

  “Hmm, maybe. Well, for whatever reason, better make yourself comfortable,” Mario said, patting the sarcophagus pod. “It’s going to be awhile.”

  “Wait, wait. What is this? Like a bathing pool or something?”

  “It’s your new console.”

  “But where are the screens, halo keyboards, joysticks, or whatever?”

  “You’re wearing them.”

  “Huh?” I looked at my jumper in confusion.

  “Welcome to the natural evolution of the industry. These power chambers are the next evolution in augment gear. You won’t need any of the handheld junk ever again. For lack of a better phrase, it’s next-level stuff.” He reached up in the air and blindly snatched a lit cigarette from a passing drone.

  I wanted to ask about the seamlessness in what I had just witnessed but ultimately decided against it. If anything, it was evident that this whole operation was a well-oiled machine, and Mario was just another cog in it.

  He gave me an encouraging nod towards the chamber, as if to say “in you go.”

  Something was familiar about the whole rig. The container looked similar to what I saw being unboxed over at my parents’ house—tubes, pods, chambers, or whatever. Maybe their expectations of their new gear weren’t so farfetched after all. I mean, I’m no gamer, and Mario already had me convinced of its greatness.

  “But how does it work?” I asked, trying to stall a little, still hung up on how long he considered my offer of treason.

  Holding in his drag, he said with a constipated look, “Get in first.”

  A machine holding a very large stick thing turned and moved towards us. It could have been a coincidence, or Mario could have called in reinforcements to beat me senseless. Either way, I didn’t want to chance it.

  “Fine.” The sooner I accepted my fate, the sooner it would all be over.

  One foot at a time, I climbed into my final resting place, which conveniently looked more like a coffin than a pod. I might get out of here in a few years. Hopefully by then, they will have found a cure for whatever I apparently have.

  Who was I kidding? I saw no sign of anyone trying to do anything remotely close to that. They just wanted to lock me up—or, rather, shove me in this power chamber—and throw away the key.

  “I have an 8:45, so I don’t have time to go over all the technical ins and outs, but basically…” He paused to smoke while I got in position.

  I was just another appointment for Mario—a job that needed to be signed off on so that he could move on to the next criminal on his task sheet. He wasn’t a mega fanboy like I had hoped. Damn.

  “Comfy?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” I snapped.

  “It’s gonna be a while, better make sure.”

  While I wiggled and squirmed, the bottom layer of the sarco
phagus formed around my body as if I were lying in sand.

  He continued on while jamming the keys of the chart tablet with both hands, the cigarette dangling out of his lips, “You know, the gaming industry has hit a wall for the past century or so.”

  “I didn’t realize.”

  “Well…to be fair, all systems have, really. It is the nature of the beast.”

  He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette, and a tiny drone bot caught it before it had a chance to hit the floor.

  “Once pixels became microscopic, there was no way to increase the visual quality. Everyone has tried to enhance the experience by reintroducing old tech as new cubic sound, mist effects, universal smell stimulation, holograms; the list goes on and on. I’m sure you’ve seen it. But in reality, from a technical standpoint, things are not faster, or better; they’re just gimmickier…until now. These power chambers are the missing link in our upward progression. They’re truly remarkable.”

  “Did you help invent these chamber things, doc?

  “Doctor?”

  “Sorry, I saw the getup and I just assumed.”

  “Nah, they are the ones who engineered it. This stuff is way above my pay grade. Or anyone’s pay grade, really. I’m just an information technology technician.”

  Now that he mentioned it, they did look more like technicians, but in my defense, technicians were computer and robot doctors. I was still half right, as far as I was concerned.

  “Who are they?”

  “Hmmm.” He paused and just stared at me.

  A strange contraption was lowered down to me from a robotic crane.

  “What is happening?”

  “Think of it like a hat.”

  The device, or head cap, had wires and tubes attached to it like dreadlocks.

  Mario brought it to my hand with the utmost care. I slipped it onto my head, and it felt unnerving. I could feel the slight tingle of an electrical current running through my head, but only in select points on my scalp.

  “So, how did they discover this breakthrough? I mean, how is this any better than anything else?”

  “That is not open source information, but I can give you the short answer,” Mario said, brushing some wires out of my line of vision.