Virtually Undead

by Robert I. Katz

  Using micro-cameras to discover the correct combination to access a keyword, on the other hand, was not illegal. The main lab was open. People came and went all day. There was no expectation of privacy in a room where random people wandered in and out all day long. Expectation of privacy was the determining factor.

  “You need a warrant,” Michael said. “Why do I need a warrant? I’m a private citizen satisfying my curiosity, and incidentally, performing my civic duty.”

  Stephanie, sitting on the couch and sipping a cup of tea, rolled her eyes.

  Greg West stifled a cough behind his fist. Michael may or may not have heard the word “bullshit” from the midst of the cough.

  “Yeah, well,” Michael said.

  “If you want to take a few pictures, that’s up to you, but don’t get caught and don’t use government property to do it,” Greg West said.

  “There’s a lot of computing power in that room.” Michael muttered. “Why would a biolab need so many computers?”

  “Well, that is a question, now isn’t it?”

  “Here’s another one: can you get me a copy of Virtually Undead?” Remington Simulations had halted all business activity, pending the resolution of the police and FBI investigations. Most likely, they would be going bankrupt, their assets either sold-off or distributed to their creditors. The game, Virtually Undead was not commercially available, and at this point probably never would be, but over a hundred pre-publication copies had been distributed to reviewers. Presumably, Silas Munro or someone in the lab had somehow obtained one of these.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a video game. They have a stack of video games in their lab, including Virtually Undead.” Michael shrugged. “Ten people died playing Virtually Undead. I’m suddenly curious to see what it’s like.”

  Greg West shrugged. “Let me look into it.”

  Chapter 21

  “Mind if I join you?” Michael said.

  Sally Reeves and Jeff Gaines, two of Silas Munro’s post-docs, were sitting at a table in the cafeteria with Claude Pierson, Ming Lee and Fred Sloane, who were part of James Garrett’s team. Michael had been watching them. They conversed together in low voices, their eyes flicking warily around the room, obviously discussing matters of great and confidential importance.

  Reeves frowned. Sloane looked away. None of them said a word.

  “Thanks,” Michael said. He sat down and smiled at the group. None of them smiled back.

  “So, what are you guys doing in that secret lab of yours?” Michael said.

  Ming Lee looked over at Claude Pierson. Jeff Gaines glowered at him. “It’s secret,” he said.

  Michael nodded. “It must be something big, though, something cutting edge. Everybody’s been wondering.” This was true.

  He smiled around the table. They stared at him. He stared back.

  “Look,” Sally Reeves said, “we’re trying to have a conversation here.”

  Michael sighed. “Something to do with computers, I’ll bet. Munro and Garrett are both working on aspects of the brain-computer interface. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  “Why should we tell you anything?” Jeff Gaines said. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Please go away,” Fred Sloane said.

  “Oh, well.” Michael shrugged and rose to his feet. “Virtual reality is a tough game. There’s a lot of competition to get there first.”

  Ming Lee and Claude Pierson stared daggers. Pierson started to rise to his feet, until Sally Reeves, sitting at his side, put a hand on his arm. Pierson drew a deep breath and sank back down.

  “Have a nice day,” Jeff Gaines said.

  Michael gave them a tight smile and walked off.

  Commander’s Palace, the flagship of the Brennan culinary empire. They sat in the main dining room, surrounded by men wearing ties and women in fancy dresses. Commander’s Palace did not require a jacket, but they ‘recommended’ one. For an era long gone, these would have been the standard clothes for a night out on the town. Today, it felt like make-believe.

  A string quartet was playing in the corner of the room. The dinner so far had been excellent, foie gras sweet potato pie followed by aged, smoked duck breast for Michael, gumbo and trout meuniere for Stephanie. The bottle of excellent (and overpriced, but you get what you pay for) Chardonnay was almost empty.

  “Why did you do that? What did you think you would accomplish by provoking them?”

  Good question… “I felt like it?” Michael said.

  Stephanie gave a tiny shrug and frowned.

  “Look, what else am I supposed to do? Stir the pot, see what comes to the top. Isn’t that what detectives do in the movies?”

  “Be obnoxious?”

  Stephanie, obviously, did not believe in being obnoxious, even to the bad guys. Not that there was any evidence that anybody in either Silas Munro or James Garrett’s lab was an actual bad guy. They were smug, though. Clearly satisfied with their lot in life. This was unusual for post-docs, most of whom were acutely resentful of their lowly position (and even lowlier salary) on the academic ladder.

  Little shits, Michael thought.

  “I will be glad,” Stephanie said, “to get back to New York.”

  Michael looked down at the bread pudding souffle that the waiter had just placed on the table. It did look delicious.

  “Me, too,” he said.

  A flat, cardboard box sat on the table, along with a note from Greg West:

  Here’s the game you asked for. Enjoy.

  Michael knew that the FBI had access to this apartment. Still, he didn’t like the idea that somebody other than Stephanie and himself could just waltz right in. He briefly considered changing the locks, then shrugged and decided to forget it.

  He opened the box and found a DVD containing Virtually Undead. Next to it on the table stood an optical disk player that could plug into Michael’s computer. Michael turned the disk over in his fingers: a shiny compact disk, nothing outwardly to distinguish it from a billion others. Strange, a mere ten years or so ago, these were advanced technology, the most efficient way of transferring data. Now, they were almost obsolete, most data and most games being downloaded directly from the internet. For prototypes of games that had not yet been commercially released, however, a DVD was still required.

  Michael and Stephanie had both set up their computers on the table as soon as they arrived, a few days before. Michael plugged in the optical drive and booted up his computer.

  “Coffee?” Stephanie asked. “Tea?”

  “No thanks.”

  He slid the disk into the drive and sat down in front of the screen. Now, let’s see, he thought.

  An hour later, he had wandered through the game’s features. You could only pack so much onto a disk, and with only a mouse as a controller, and without any of the VR tech, Michael’s ability to play the game as it was meant to be played was limited. No doubt, the online version, if it ever came to market, would have far more capabilities. The first level, the level that Ralph Guthrie had died playing, was simple but fun. Go into a building, fight a bunch of zombies, vampires, spooks and mutated ghouls, find an abandoned computer and get out alive.

  The next level was designed for two players to compete against each other. The level above that contained a complex of abandoned buildings, meant to be played by two or more competing teams at the same time. The creatures they had to fight remained the same, but there were a lot more of them.

  The final level was mentioned in the Table of Contents but was too large to be contained on the disk. It would have to be downloaded. This level comprised an entire continent of abandoned cities, with multiple artifacts to be retrieved, each with its own set of challenges. Level 4 was meant to be played by potentially thousands of gamers at the same time, each pursuing whichever goals and prizes they preferred, killing their rivals along the way. Level 4 was entitled “Night and the City.”

  Finally, after an hour, he sat back and stretched his neck.

 
; Stephanie, reading a book on the couch, looked up. “Learn anything?”

  “Not much.” Michael shrugged. “Pretty standard sort of game. It would be fun to play but there are dozens of others like it.”

  “The game was just a demo, wasn’t it? Meant to demonstrate the capabilities of the hardware?”

  “Yeah. The hardware is what they were most interested in selling.”

  “Well, then.”

  “Still, they could have come up with any sort of game at all, but this is the one they came up with. Why?”

  Stephanie shrugged. “Why not this one? It’s an action game. It does what it was supposed to do: show-off the capabilities of the hardware.”

  “I suppose,” Michael said. Truthfully, it seemed like a routine enough game.

  Stephanie put down her book and stretched her arms above her head. “Sometimes,” she declared, “a good game is just a good game.”

  Michael looked at her. “Let’s go to bed,” he said.

  “Good idea.”

  The next night, he waited until 3:00 AM and returned to the lab. Once again, the place was dark. He was alone. He punched in the code and entered the server room. Nothing had changed. The stack of video games might have been shuffled through. It might not.

  The computer on the table was still on. Michael put on his gloves, moved the mouse and the desktop instantly lit up. Words flowed across the screen: Identify yourself.

  Not a password, exactly, but certainly the equivalent. Not a question Michael was prepared to answer.

  He smiled. It wasn’t as if he had placed much hope in this little adventure. I would prefer not to, he typed.

  He expected a box to appear in the middle of the screen announcing that this ID was not recognized and that access was therefore denied. Instead, the words, Why not? appeared.

  Hmm? No way to finesse this one. My presence here is unauthorized, Michael wrote.

  The computer paused. Then, a few seconds later, What information do you desire? marched across the screen.

  Really? Well, that was unexpected. Interesting glitch in this computer’s programming. Michael cleared this throat, and typed in: Who killed Ralph Guthrie, and why was he killed?

  Again, the computer paused. Put on the goggles.

  Somehow, that didn’t seem wise. I would rather not, Michael wrote.

  I will not be able to answer your questions unless you do so.

  Oh, well. Sure. Michael sighed and picked up the goggles. They seemed normal enough, similar to an Oculus headset but a brand he had never heard of. No obvious extra knobs or controls. No needles, wires or probes designed to shoot electricity through his brain. Nothing dangerous or unexpected that he could see. Gingerly, he placed the goggles over his head.

  His vision expanded. A ruined city spread out in front of him. Night had recently fallen, a purple and pink glow still lingering over the far horizon. Rubble lay in the street, fallen from the shattered remains of what once might have been an apartment building. A skyscraper towered toward the sky, most of its windows broken. A tattered American flag could dimly be seen, fluttering in a slight breeze overhead.

  Somewhere, an owl hooted. Nothing else could be heard.

  Words scrolled across Michael’s visual field:

  Level 1: Your task is to retrieve a laptop computer on the 17th Floor of the Bancroft Building. The computer contains information that will enable humankind to create a serum against the virus that is responsible for the world-wide infestation of vampires, zombies and ghouls.

  Michael could see the words, “Bancroft Building” inscribed into the marble frame above the skyscraper’s front door.

  He hesitated. “I don’t know that I’m in the mood to play games,” he said.

  You must play the game in order to receive the information that you are seeking.

  Annoying. In the upper left corner of his visual field, the time was displayed. He had already been in the server room for seven minutes. The back of his neck itched. He could almost feel somebody sneaking up on him from behind.

  He drew a deep breath and stepped into the lobby, which was partially lit by a few dim bulbs hanging from the ceiling. The lobby had apparently been looted in the past. A few broken tables and the remains of a few chairs lay overturned in a corner. The room was otherwise empty. A shuffling sound came immediately to his ears, a figure slowly approaching from the other side of the room, dragging one leg behind. Rotten flesh hung off the creature’s arms, the bones visible. Teeth and most of the jaw shone through a hole where its lips used to be. Bald, mostly naked, it reached toward him and moaned as it shambled forward.

  No doubt, Ralph or another devoted gamer would have known what this thing was. Michael hadn’t a clue. Whatever, he pointed the virtual gun in his right hand at the creature and pulled the trigger. A hole appeared in the thing’s forehead, which seemed to bother it not at all. It shuffled forward. Michael pressed a button on the controller and the gun morphed into a lightsaber. He swung the saber and the creature’s head flew off. Its body fell to the ground, twitching.

  A faint sound came from above. Michael turned and looked up as a shadowy figure plunged down from the ceiling. He sliced, feeling little resistance from the blade as it slid through the vampire’s chest.

  The vampire wailed, collapsed and turned almost instantly into a small pile of dust.

  Warily, Michael slid one foot forward, then the other.

  A navigational grid in his visual field contained detailed plans of the building. There were only two ways to get to the Seventeenth Floor, up one of the stairwells or up the elevator shaft. An experienced gamer might have tried to climb the elevator shaft, or even scale the outside of the building. Somehow, that seemed unwise. Michael had no experience climbing elevator shafts.

  Slowly, carefully, he glided across the floor and opened the door to one of the three stairwells. He paused, listening. Nothing. Alright, then. Over his head, the stairs rose until they could barely be seen in the distance, back and forth, a landing opening out onto each floor.

  Michael climbed the first set of stairs and stopped for a few moments on the landing to listen. Nothing. He went on.

  A hiss came to his ears. The door from the landing onto the fourth floor opened and a revenant, a newly made vampire, charged out. Michael had encountered revenants before, in other games. If this game worked the same as the others, the revenant would be nearly mindless, consumed by the lust for blood. It charged forward. Michael slid to the side, spun and cut across the revenant’s head with his lightsaber. The revenant’s head flew off, clattering down the stairway. The body dropped at Michael’s feet.

  One floor later, a ghoul charged him from the open doorway. Ghouls looked a lot like zombies, except they weren’t dead. The same stench of rotting flesh, though, the same hungry gleam to the eye. Faster than a zombie, as well, but no matter. The lightsaber was sharp and Michael was ready. The ghoul’s head easily detached from its body, and the ghoul fell at Michael’s feet, gushing dark red blood.

  Michael shuddered. Gross, he thought. He left the body undisturbed and climbed to the next landing.

  This time, two mid-level vamps charged out in unison. They were fast. Too fast. Michael spun, slashing with the lightsaber, and managed to cut a gash across the first vampire’s chest, but the wound healed almost instantly. The vamp ignored it and came on. Desperately, Michael turned. He tried to raise his lightsaber as the second vampire charged from the side, claws out and fangs gaping, but he knew he would be too late.

  The door to the fourth floor crashed open. Katana in one hand, wakizashi in the other, an armored figure spun a web of steel as the vampires skittered to the side, then charged, seeking an opening. The armored man dropped, feinted left, thrust to the right and the wakizashi plunged through one vamp’s heart. He spun, and the katana connected to the second vamp’s neck. Its head flew off, clattering down the stairwell.

  The vamps weren’t old enough to crumble into dust, but they were certainly old enough
for a quick mummification. Within seconds, the skin over their dead bodies turned brown and leathery, stretching smoothly over both skeletons.

  The armored figure turned toward Michael. He reached up, grasped his helmet with both gauntleted hands and took it off. A face that Michael knew well and had never expected to see again grinned at him.

  Michael stared. “Ralph,” he whispered.

  “Come on,” Ralph Guthrie said. “I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

  Chapter 22

  As they walked down the hallway, Michael following Ralph, they passed three other men, all in armor, with swords in their hands, standing guard. All three looked at Michael. One grinned wanly and saluted Michael with his sword. Another shook his head.

  “The vamps have learned to avoid this floor,” Ralph said. “We’ve barricaded the entrances. Come on.”

  They walked past a series of glass fronted doors and into a conference room. Six people, all in exosuits with their helmets off, sat around the large table. “Sit down,” Ralph said.

  Michael did so. Ralph took the seat at the head of the table. He gave Michael a bright smile. “So, you must be wondering what this is all about.”

  “Yes,” Michael said.

  “Well, we are, too. All of us, here…” He gestured to the other six around the table. “We were playing a game: Virtually Undead. All of us were killed in the game and then we found ourselves trapped here. We’re still in the game. We can’t get out.”

  Michael had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “You don’t know what happened?”

  “Not really.”