by Terry Schott
Chapter 50
I don’t get too upset about what happens to players inside the Game. I mean, it’s just a game for our entertainment, right? Yes, I guess they do remember feeling all the pain and joy they experience while playing.
No, I never considered how that might affect them once they come out of the Game. But it’s not real, so what’s the big deal? Those kids are lucky. When I went to school I had to sit in a classroom and was bored out of my mind! I’d love to just plug in and go having fun adventures for years and years.
Hmm… but what if I had a life where I just did the kind of things I do now? And then I had to do it over and over again?
I never really thought of it that way. I guess it could be pretty bad, but still better than failing out, right?
Well, if a player gets stuck in that type of loop, I just stop following them and tune in to someone more exciting.
Me? I work at the computer chip facility, on the line. No, I guess my life wouldn’t be too exciting to follow, but what can I do? It’s not just some fun Game for me to play. If it was, I think I’d take more risks and go for the exciting stuff.
Interview with a local Game fan
“What’s the diagnosis?” Brandon asked.
The room was silent. No one looked up from their tablets. Some of them were crying.
Brandon wanted to scream at them to calm down and act like the professionals they were, to earn their pay for a change and deliver him a miracle. They had no idea what was really on the line here — that would give them something to really be upset about. But he knew losing his composure would get them nowhere.
He spoke in a compassionate, gentle tone. “Michelle, what’s the diagnosis?”
Michelle remained sitting. “Doctors give her a few days, weeks at the most. There is no detectable brain function. She’s dead, by the definition. There’s no hope, Brandon.”
Brandon knew she wasn’t dead. If she was ‘dead by the definition,’ then the game would be finished, and over a billion children would be lying dead on their Game tables all over Tygon. “It’s important that no one pulls the plug on her. Do we all understand this? Angelica, tell me there is no danger of that happening.”
“We’re safe in that regard, Brandon,” Angelica said, reclining in her chair beside Lilith at the other end of the large table. “Three Eternals are within twenty feet of her; either Raphael or Stephanie are in the room at all times. No one is pulling a plug.”
“Trew?” Brandon asked.
“He was hysterical,” Michelle said. “We thought he was going to rip the hospital down with the raw emotion and Talent bubbling to the surface in him. Then he went to the hospital chapel and prayed for a good hour. After that, he came back and he’s been as calm as… well, as cool as you seem to be.”
“She’s not going to die,” Brandon said with absolute certainty.
“He said that very same thing,” Michelle said. “Now he’s just sitting beside her, waiting. The doctors and nurses have been in and delivered the terrible news. The baby is gone; Danielle’s internal bleeding has slowed, but for some reason they can’t stop it. Her brain is barely sparking a signal. They’re encouraging him to let her go. He said she’ll be okay, and since he has absolute say over when to stop life support, she will remain plugged in. Friends and family are flocking to give their support. He’s not alone.”
“So what do we do?” Brandon asked, looking around the table. His question was answered with silence.
Finally someone mumbled something from his right side.
“What was that?” he asked. “I didn’t hear what you said. Speak up.”
The young man continued to look at his tablet. “I said maybe we could pray?”
A woman on the other side laughed in disgust. “Pray to who? Tygon doesn’t have a God. And even if we did, why would we bother to pray for a video game character?”
The entire table looked up at her. She looked surprised at her own outburst and began to stammer an apology. Brandon held up his hand to silence her. He looked at her calmly as her eyes darted quickly from left to right looking for support. He slowly dropped his hand to rest on the table, still looking blankly at the girl.
“Out you go, Claudette,” Brandon said.
“Where?” she asked with a look of worry. “For how long? Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“You’re done, Claudette. I don’t care where you go or what you do, but you had best stay out of the circles I inhabit. And I inhabit every circle worth being in. Leave. Now.”
Claudette stood up and slowly walked out. Everyone sat there stunned. This wasn’t something Brandon had ever done before. Answering the silent question, Brandon said, “She did that to herself. I won’t have it. It doesn’t help anyone to allow that type of attitude. It’s a growing sentiment in this society of ours and, quite frankly, it is the poison that will destroy us all if we let it.”
Brandon looked back to the young man who had spoken up. “Tell me more about your idea, please.”
The young man looked nervous still, but he stood up and voiced his idea. “As a society, we no longer believe in a God because we see no evidence of one. Perhaps we see no evidence of one because we no longer believe in its existence. If the Game can have one, why can’t we? If our population can appeal to help Danielle inside the Game, maybe enough Patrons and influencers will do what they can to move their players to also focus inside the Game on her. Maybe in this way we can help. Somehow.”
Michelle looked doubtful. “No disrespect intended, sir, but what we’re talking about here is real. This idea doesn’t make much sense.”
Brandon nodded. “I agree, Michelle, but we are helpless to help inside the Game. Could a game renew our faith in the Divine? It’s ridiculous, but I also know everyone on Tygon is watching Danielle in her bed right now. The numbers you showed me indicate our world is stopped. Everyone who follows the Game has called off from work, using ‘Game Days’ to watch what unfolds.”
“We have their undivided attention,” Brandon said. “Let’s ask them to do the impossible, to pray for Danielle.”
“It will be good for Game ratings, in any event,” Angelica said.
Brandon wanted to reprimand her, but they all knew it was about the Game and ratings. Claudette had crossed the line by not caring about the kids living and dying inside the Game, but it was acceptable to be focused on the ratings. Just because Brandon’s goals were bigger wasn’t anyone else’s fault. He'd built this beast; he had to live by its rules.
“Okay, then,” Brandon said. “Pray for Danielle. What an interesting idea, that a video game could make us once again believe in something more than what we can see and touch. Let’s try it.”