by Jason Segel
“No clue,” I admit. I haven’t had much time to think things through.
My grandfather pulls a pack of Lucky Strikes from the pocket of his suit. When his Zippo won’t produce a flame and the cigarettes are too wet to light, he tosses everything out the window.
“So let me see if I understand what’s going on,” he says. I’m eager to hear what a gangster from the 1960s makes of Otherworld, but he doesn’t seem very interested in virtual reality. “A bunch of kids got killed at that factory, and the cops are calling it an accident. Then the people who survived get hooked up to some kind of machine and sent away. The machine’s supposed to let them play with bunnies and butterflies, but people end up getting eaten by goats instead. I got this straight?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “Pretty much.”
My grandfather whistles appreciatively. “If I were a betting man—and believe me, I am—I’d bet that collapse was no accident. Somebody must have wanted those kids out of the way.”
“I know,” I say, though it’s the first time I’ve actually voiced my suspicions. “They were targeted.”
“I know you know,” he tells me. He’s right. I’m not having a conversation with a dead gangster I’ve never met. I’m talking to myself. “Question is—what are you planning to do about it?”
I shrug. “Not much I can do,” I tell him. “I’m out of the way now too.” Someone sent me the disk and I jumped right into Otherworld without thinking. Maybe the person was trying to help me. Maybe they wanted to get rid of me. At this point, it’s impossible to know.
“You followed your gut,” the Kishka says. “You did the right thing.”
“You mean coming here to rescue Kat?”
My grandfather snorts. “You and I both know that girl can take care of herself. She’s been to Otherworld. She knows where she is by now. And half the time in these games, she’s the one saving your ass. That’s not why you need to find her.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“She saw what happened the night of the collapse. She knows what was thrown down to the second floor—and she probably knows who threw it. You want to do something for her? Figure out who put her in the hospital in the first place.”
“How?”
“Are you kidding me? She’s here somewhere. Just find her and ask her.”
I open my eyes. The night is pitch-black. The designers seem to have forgotten to add a moon. There are only stars above. They appear to be laid out in patterns, but as far as I can tell, they don’t match any of the constellations I’ve seen from Earth.
I hear a sniffle and then a muffled sob. One of my new companions is crying. I can’t be positive, but it sounds like Arkan. Maybe he doesn’t like being dead after all.
I wake up again as the sun rises. The others are sleeping soundlessly. Carole’s body is wrapped in her cloak. Arkan’s shield is covering his face, and Gorog has curled up in a giant ball. There’s no breeze and everything around me is perfectly still. It’s as if the world has frozen. Then I hear a splash from the lake. The silver fish must be jumping, I think. But when I sit up to watch, I’m startled to see a girl treading water near the bank.
Her face is human, I’m relieved to discover, and her long black hair floats on the surface around her. I can make out her slender, bare arms undulating beneath the water. It’s hard to imagine she’s wearing a swimsuit.
I stand up and walk toward her, careful to keep a safe distance between us. I know better than to trust a pretty face here—and I have no intention of being dragged in and drowned. Her skin grows a hot red as I approach; then she dips her head beneath the water, and a small puff of steam escapes into the atmosphere. A silver fish tail slaps the surface of the water. When the fish girl appears again, her cooled skin is the color of pale-gray slate.
“Wake the others,” she tells me, her voice soft as if she’s sharing a secret. “There’s a swarm heading this way. I can hear it approaching. It will be here in a matter of hours.”
I listen for a moment, but I hear nothing. “A swarm of what?”
“Flying insects,” she says. “They have no name. They were designed to pollinate the flowers of a distant realm, but they flew away. I do not know how they survive while they’re in the wastelands. I only know that they are not what the Creator intended.”
Sounds familiar. “Lemme guess…now they drink blood instead of nectar,” I say.
“No,” the girl says. “They are not interested in our guests or their blood. They fly from one end of Otherworld to the other, and they let nothing stand in their way. As they pass, they will enter and fill your body’s every opening. You’ll suffocate moments before your carcass explodes.”
Holy shit. Otherworld has invented another delightful way to go.
The girl sinks beneath the water and surfaces again. “You must reach Imra before the insects overtake you. Look for the highest peak on the horizon. On top, you’ll find the entrance to the city.”
“How far is it?” I ask.
“It’s close enough. If you leave soon, you’ll stand a chance of survival.”
That doesn’t sound terribly encouraging. I’d rather have more than just a chance. I’m about to jump up and wake the others when I realize I’m taking advice from a naked fish girl who lives in a pond.
“Are you one of the Children?” I ask.
“I am the Creator’s daughter,” she answers frankly.
I have no idea what that really means, but I guess I’ll take that as a yes. “The last Child I met liked to eat people like me. So why should I trust you? How do I know you’re not sending me into some kind of trap?”
“Your friend asked me to help you if you passed this way. She wanted me to let you know that she’s alive and on her way to the glacier. She will wait for you there.”
Some kind of chemical floods my brain and for a moment I’m high on it. I know who the fish girl is talking about, but I still ask, “What friend?”
“The female in a camouflage suit that blends into anything. She said a male dressed like a peasant might come after her.”
Kat. She was listening when I told her I’d find her. And it sounds like she chose the same avatar she used when we explored Otherworld for the first time. The camouflage is battle attire. Even during setup inside the White City, Kat knew she’d be in danger. But the girl in the pond just said two things that give me hope. The Clay Man was right—Kat’s heading for the glacier. And her trip must be going okay so far if she took the time to knock my avatar.
“I’m not a peasant. I’m a Druid,” I correct the fish girl.
“It makes no difference to me. Your companions are lucky I was able to recognize you. I do not let guests take shelter near my lake. Your friend was the first guest I’ve spared.”
“Why did you let her live?” I ask.
“When she spoke, she wasn’t like the others. She knows this isn’t a game, and she agrees that your kind does not belong here. I let her live because she promised to speak to my father. She will convince him to banish all humans from Otherworld and leave the land to the Elementals, the Beasts and the Children.”
What the hell? Kat’s supposed to be heading for the exit, not setting off on some grand mission. “I thought you just said my friend was on her way to the glacier. Now you’re telling me she’s looking for the Creator? Which is it?”
“Both,” says the girl. “She must speak to him before she leaves.”
“Okay, well, what if my friend can’t find your Creator and convince him to banish the guests?” I ask.
“Then there will be war,” the girl says simply. “It’s already begun.”
She slips silently into the water and does not surface again. It’s probably my imagination, but my ears detect a faint buzzing in the distance.
—
Six hours of walking, and we finally saw signs of Imra. I knew it was on the top of a goddamn mountain, but I’d forgotten how high that mountain peak happened to be. But where else would you expect y
our safe haven to be when you’re being chased by a suffocating swarm of insects? By the halfway point, I was almost wishing I was dead anyway. Though Arkan never stopped assuring us that none of it was real, the black swarm eventually appeared on the horizon, and I almost found myself feeling a little nostalgic for the goats. Compared to having every orifice filled with flying insects, being eaten seemed like a noble way to go.
Now, at the top of the mountain, I’m struck by déjà vu. We’re standing outside the same gates where I began my first adventure in Otherworld. Back then, I was blown away by how real everything seemed. But after witnessing the glorious architecture of the White City, I’m feeling a little meh about this place. The gates open for us, and we set off down one of the streets. The buildings we pass remind me of college dorms. There are no shops or businesses of any kind—just row after row of bland brick structures. I’ve heard rumors that Imra’s a digital Sodom, but all those whispers must have been wrong. I’m fairly confident that nothing interesting has ever happened here.
We don’t walk far before we start seeing NPCs. I scan every face, just in case Kat made a detour on her way to the glacier, but I’m pretty sure there’s not an avatar among them. Most of the NPCs are Photoshop good-looking, with creamy skin, gleaming hair and rock-hard glutes. They’re all dressed like extras in a vodka commercial. Meanwhile, the dense black cloud of insects is so close now that its buzzing has built to a roar. While the residents here don’t seem terribly perturbed, I can’t help but notice that the streets are quickly emptying.
One of the few NPCs still left outside is approaching us. Her sensible low-heeled pumps click and her hips sway as she walks. She’s clearly a resident. No human being would willingly choose an avatar this bland. Her dark hair is pulled back in a bun, and she’s wearing a navy skirt suit and a white button-down shirt. A name tag identifies her as Margot.
“Hello!” She smiles warmly, showing the perfect number of teeth to communicate genuine delight at our sudden appearance. “Are you looking for Imra?”
“This isn’t it?” I ask.
Margot chuckles in a way that says she’s laughing with me, rather than at me. “Not quite. But you’re almost there! Follow me.”
She keeps talking after her back is turned toward us, but the insects’ buzzing has grown deafening, and I can’t make out a single word. One of the bugs’ advance guards lands on my ear. I capture it between my fingers. It’s like a little black ladybug, and I’d probably call it cute if it didn’t want to invade all my openings. A second insect grazes my nose, and I feel a jolt of panic. We need to find shelter as quickly as possible.
Carole is clearly thinking the same thing. “Hey, do you think we can get where we’re going a little bit faster?” I hear her shout at Margot’s back.
I don’t catch her response, but Margot breaks into an effortless jog. We run behind her for what feels like miles, past more identical buildings, until we reach a large square that seems like it must be the center of town. Where you’d ordinarily expect to find a fountain or statue, there’s a giant glass box instead. A door slides open and the four of us follow Margot inside. The box is big enough to fit a hundred large avatars comfortably. The door shuts and seals just as the insects close in around us. I double over with relief as millions of tiny bodies splatter against the glass while the sun dims and then disappears.
“Everyone feeling good?” Margot asks cheerfully, as if nothing potentially life-threatening had just taken place. “I guess that’s our exercise for today!”
Carole collapses to the floor and Gorog joins her. “Are you sure this isn’t real?” Carole groans. “ ’Cause I’m pretty sure I’m having a heart attack.”
“Real?” Margot looks confused. “Of course it’s real.”
“It’s not real.” Arkan is panting, but he still manages to force the words out. The dude’s got a one-track mind.
“How long are we going to have to stay in this box?” Gorog asks anxiously. I’d like to know, too. The claustrophobia is starting to kick in.
“Just a few more moments,” Margot assures him. And it does seem as if some light is beginning to filter through the swarm. Then I watch as a chandelier rises from the floor, and I realize we’ve been descending into an underground space.
We come to an abrupt stop and the side of the glass box slides open again. A wave of hot air washes over us. “Welcome to Imra!” Margot exclaims.
Usually I’d find such boundless enthusiasm nauseating, but in this case it’s warranted. A wide red velvet carpet stretches out in front of us, spiraling around the interior of what appears to be the cone of a massive volcano. Chandelier-like streetlamps light the way, which is lined with stately buildings, their marble façades riddled with classy nude statues and ornate columns. It’s probably what Monte Carlo would look like if ancient Greeks had constructed it. A fence with a single rail runs along the left side of the walkway. It’s the only thing preventing pedestrians from plummeting over the edge and down into the glowing pool of lava that spits and churns below. As the son of two lawyers, I feel the urge to warn my hosts that they’re running the risk of a billion personal injury lawsuits, but Carole finds her tongue first.
“If this is Imra, where did we just come from?”
“We call the surface village the suburbs,” Margot responds with another hearty laugh, and I want to punch the dork who designed her. “That’s where our residents live. The city of Imra houses only guests. It’s beautiful, safe and all-inclusive. We like to think of it as the Resort of the Future.”
“Where is everybody?” Carole pushes further. “The place looks totally empty.”
“We just opened a few weeks ago,” Margot explains. “There’s a small, select group staying with us at the moment, but don’t you worry—the crowds will be showing up soon! The city was built to be perfectly scalable. Right now we have space for ten thousand guests, but we plan to host millions someday! Now, what do you say—shall I show you around? I think you’ll find we have something for everyone here in Imra. The Creator designed it to be the ultimate welcome station for our guests.”
Margot doesn’t actually wait for our response, and I’m getting the sense that the tour may not be totally optional. The glass elevator that brought us here is already rising back to the surface, and from where we’re standing, the walkway only leads in a single direction. Then Margot pulls open a pair of golden doors to our right, revealing a room that has waterfalls for walls. They feed a pool that’s large enough to Jet Ski across.
“Wow,” Gorog marvels. Then his eyes immediately shoot toward Arkan. “Yeah, yeah. I know it’s not real.”
“Maybe not,” I say, wiping the mist from my brow as I walk into the room. Gorog and Carole enter alongside me. “But you gotta admit it’s doing a pretty good impression of real.” Upholstered lounge chairs are lined up along the edge, and palm trees bristling with sweet brown dates grow out of massive planters. Stationed at regular intervals are attractive young men and women in white uniforms.
“This is one of our many spa rooms,” Margot says, joining us at the edge of the pool. “Guests like you often stop here first for a refreshing swim or massage. Our therapists can provide any style of bodywork you desire. Should you wish to update your avatar, there are facilities available for that here, too. Many of our guests prefer to assume a more conventional appearance in Imra. It makes certain things…easier.”
I see her give Gorog a once-over. She clearly thinks he could use a few improvements.
“Huh?” The ogre blushes when he notices her looking at him. “No thanks, I’m good.”
Where are all the other guests that Margot keeps talking about? I wonder. There’s no one here. I’m about to make a joke about everyone choosing to be invisible when I actually spot someone on the other side of the pool. It’s a naked man lying facedown on one of the lounge chairs. His head and left arm are hanging off the side.
Gorog sees him too. “Look—that guy must have died of happiness.”
/>
“Oh, no,” Margot assures us. She doesn’t seem to know it was a joke. “His avatar wouldn’t be here if he were dead.”
“We’re all dead,” says Arkan.
Margot smiles at him brightly. “You aren’t dead,” she corrects the knight. “That seems to be a common misconception these days. We’ve had a few guests lately who assumed that this was some kind of afterworld. But I assure you all, you’re very much alive. This is Otherworld.”
There’s silence while all eyes turn to the red knight. There’s no telling how he’s going to respond to the news. Carole’s gotta be pissed as hell. She’s done everything she can to keep the truth from Arkan, and Margot’s just gone and blurted it out.
“Otherworld?” Arkan repeats. “Isn’t that a game?” Inside his good-looking head is a brain in full meltdown.
Carole quickly jumps in to change the subject. “You know, if that guy over there on the lounge chair isn’t dead, he must be pretty wasted,” she tells Margot. “Someone should help him find a room.”
Margot shakes her head vigorously. “Oh, no. We’re not allowed to interfere. The world you came from is governed by laws and rules and social conventions, but Imra was built to offer a safe haven from such things. The guests in Imra are free to do as they will. None of us are here to judge. You spend so much time and effort fighting your instincts in your world. Well, we’re here to tell you it’s okay—you can relax for a while,” she says, still revoltingly chipper. “So! Any of you tempted to get a rubdown or go for a plunge?”
Carole and Gorog turn to me, confusion written all over their faces. We came to Imra to hide from a swarm of killer bugs and now we’re being offered bodywork.
“No?” Our tour guide seems a bit disappointed, as if our comfort were her personal responsibility. “Well, then anyone hungry?”
We leave the spa and Margot leads us farther down the spiral path to a second building. The smell of roasted meat nearly knocks me to my knees before I even step inside. My mouth begins to water and my stomach groans miserably. I have no idea how many hours have passed since my body back in the real world had its last meal. The others don’t seem to be quite as affected, and I realize that wherever they are, their bodies must be hooked up to IVs that prevent them from starving. But I need something in my stomach before I move on.