by Jason Segel
The soldiers set off the second the words leave my mouth. There are no questions—no complaints or concerns. And I couldn’t care less if half of them never return from their mission. Having a robot army certainly has its advantages.
They’re excellent at their job, too. Word of our little giveaway spreads quickly, and soon the residents of Mammon are scuttling about like cockroaches on garbage day. For the most part, the mansions’ owners are attractive and elegantly attired. Standing outside the closed gates of Gina’s house, they resemble members of the Brockenhurst Country Club. If it weren’t for their icy eyes, you’d never guess they were killers.
Gorog and I are on the lawn, waiting for the fun to commence. Carole, loaded down with weapons, is invisible beside us. As our visitors arrive, they all peer through the gates, examining the ogre first before they move on to me. The gaze is always cold and clinical, and when they finish, they scrutinize their neighbors. Finally, risk assessed, the people of Mammon proceed to pick apart Gina’s mansion with their eyes. At least half of them have far more than Gina. There’s no need to resort to looting. But the cliff dwellers inside them all can’t resist.
“Why are you doing this?” a gentleman asks me, as if my motives are completely inscrutable. “Why give it away?”
“Because Gina’s a bitch,” I say.
He lets out a snort. “That’s true. But I hope you weren’t expecting to find many saints here in Mammon.”
“Saints?” I reply. “Please. I’d settle for someone who isn’t a cannibal.”
He snickers. “Oh? And who are you to judge? We all consume people on our way up the ladder. It’s only natural that some of us learn to like it.”
Gorog nudges me. “I think that might be the dude who was going to eat us,” he whispers.
If so, I should kill the guy. If this were a game, my dagger would already be sticking out of his throat. But if he’s the one with a taste for human flesh, he’s probably wearing a disk. If I kill him here, he dies for real. And I’m not ready to add murder to my résumé.
“I hope you meet something much bigger than you farther up the food chain,” I snarl back at him.
I open the mansion’s gates and step back while the looters flood in. As soon as they’re all inside, I take my friends and my robot army and forge deeper into Mammon. A battalion of NPCs guards every mansion we pass. No one in Mammon left their possessions unprotected. But we meet no resistance on our way to the temple that looks down on the city. The mansions’ owners are all back at Gina’s.
We walk until the road through Mammon ends at the base of a staircase composed of golden bricks, which make me think of The Wizard of Oz. Standing at the bottom, I count five long but manageable flights. Gorog’s bounding up the first set of stairs before I’m done ordering our NPCs to go home to Gina’s. He stops at the landing between the flights, looking around in confusion, as Carole and I begin our climb. As soon as we join him on the landing, I spot the problem: there are still five flights of stairs above us.
“What the—” Gorog says.
“Don’t stop,” I tell him.
We keep climbing, and new stairs keep appearing above us, as if we’re walking up a down escalator. We’re forced to take regular breaks to let Gorog catch his breath. Apparently ogres aren’t built to climb stairs. One by one, Carole dumps all the weapons she’s been lugging. None of our avatars has the strength left to carry any additional weight. Whenever we stop, my eyes immediately turn to the temple at the summit. It’s Roman in style—a simple rectangle set on a podium and surrounded by columns. Slowly, we begin to draw closer, and as we do, the columns supporting the pediment begin to take on human shape. They’re statues of men and women—all of them naked and all clearly struggling under the weight they’re bearing. Their backs are hunched and their muscles straining. Misery is literally etched on their faces.
After hours of climbing, I finally set foot on the top of the hill. Like those of the statues that loom above, my face is probably the image of agony. Gorog and Carole aren’t looking so hot, either. In fact, I’m seriously surprised that Gorog made it up here alive. While he wheezes and coughs, I look back over the City of Mammon. From up here, I can see the realm for exactly what it is—a fucked-up digital board game. You start way down in the canyon. Then you hop from square to square by hoarding, stealing and killing as often as you can. Everyone’s trying to reach the golden temple. But then what? What happens to players when they finally get to the top?
I guess it’s time to find out. Gorog’s no longer hacking up a lung, so I motion for him and Carole to follow me into the temple.
—
It’s dark inside, and plumes of perfumed smoke waft from marble incense burners. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim light, but as they do I realize we’re not alone. At the far end of the temple, a giant being sits atop a golden chair. There’s no doubt it’s the Elemental of Mammon. A golden toga conceals his lower half, but his doughy chest and massive stomach are bare. Blue-white flesh spills over the chair’s armrests and bulges through the openings beneath them. If he decided to stand up, the chair would probably need to be surgically removed from his ass. But somehow I doubt this guy ever needs to budge.
Five of what I can only guess are Children skulk about behind the Elemental’s chair, ready to do his bidding. Their size and overall appearance vary. They must have different mothers. But like their father, they’re all totally hairless, with skin the color of skim milk. Hideous creatures with hunched backs and gnarled limbs, the Children watch our every movement from the safety of their father’s side. They don’t dare come any closer. They seem to fear us even more than they hate us.
The Elemental’s gaze is lazy and his eyelids droop as if he’d love nothing more than a nice long nap.
“You have reached the temple,” he drones. I suppose he doesn’t feel the need to introduce himself. “You must go now. You do not belong in Mammon.”
It’s a little rude, but I’m not going to argue. My ogre friend, on the other hand, doesn’t seem satisfied.
“So what do we win?” Gorog asks.
“Win?” the Elemental asks through a yawn.
“Yeah—for making it through Mammon,” Gorog adds. “Has anyone ever done it before?”
“My realm offers guests a unique way of life,” the Elemental tells him. “It is far more than a game.”
“But we met a lady down there who said the whole point is to keep moving up until you reach the temple,” Gorog argues.
“The object is to keep moving up. Not to reach the temple,” the Elemental informs us. “There will always be more gold to collect. Larger houses to build. Richer neighbors to rob. Those who belong here with me understand that.”
Gorog seems hopelessly confused, but Carole is nodding, and I think I get it too. The people here are addicted to acquiring. But no matter how much they have, they’ll never have enough. That’s why they stay in Mammon.
“So you’re really going to let us leave?” Carole asks the Elemental.
He takes a moment to scratch his ample belly. “Certainly. Where do you think you belong?”
It’s not exactly the response I was anticipating. The Elemental of Imra didn’t give us much of a say in the matter. “We can choose where we go next?” I ask.
“In a manner of speaking,” he replies, his voice deep and rich. “The Creator designed Otherworld to be a place where every guest is able to be his or her true self. Whatever desires you may have, there’s an Otherworld realm where you may express them freely. Perhaps it’s something that would not be acceptable in your world. It makes no difference to us. So tell me what it is you desire most, and I will direct you to the realm that suits you best.”
I glance over at Carole and Gorog. They nod, silently letting me know that they’ll follow my lead. “Out in the wastelands there are ice fields that stretch for miles and miles. That’s where we’d like to go.”
Something I just said seems to have caught the a
ttention of the Children. I see ears prick up. But their father yawns again as if performing his duties is an utter bore. “No. The ice fields are a liminal space. They are not within the boundaries of any of Otherworld’s realms,” he says. “I cannot send you there.”
“Could you send us to the realm that’s closest to them?” I ask. “There’s a glacier in the ice fields that we really need to reach.” The Elemental doesn’t respond. He’s bending to the side, letting one of the Children whisper in his ear. When he sits up straight again, he no longer seems bored.
“What business do you have at the glacier?” he demands. I think I may have misread him. He doesn’t sound quite so easygoing anymore.
“Someone’s waiting for me there,” I tell him. My heart skips a beat at the thought of Kat. “And these two just want to go home. Inside the glacier there’s a cave with an exit that leads back to our world.”
The most human-looking of the Children limps toward us. She’s a pale, sickly creature, with large, wide-set eyes that take up most of the space on her hairless head. Her sisters and brothers are far more hideous, but I’m still finding it hard to look at her. Something appears to be very wrong with both of her legs. Thick, oozing scars ring her shins. I’m guessing she got caught in a booby trap outside one of the mansions in Mammon.
My gaze passes over her brothers and sisters. They, too, show signs of injury—fresh wounds and scarred flesh. A couple of them appear to be missing limbs. Life in Mammon is dangerous for anyone without garbage bags full of weapons. No wonder the Children are holed up here in their father’s temple. It’s the only safe spot in the realm.
“Why do you need an exit?” the Child asks. “Guests may leave our world whenever they like.”
“Not us,” Gorog says, shaking his head.
“We’re not playing a game like most of them,” Carole tries to explain. “We’re stuck here, and we’re trying to get out.”
The Child glances up at her father and then back at us. “I don’t understand.”
“We shouldn’t be here,” I tell her. “The people who made this place—”
“People?” the Child interrupts.
“The Creator built Otherworld,” the Elemental booms.
“Right, right, of course,” I say, trying not to sound dismissive. “How could I forget?”
“The cave you describe—they say the Creator has taken refuge there,” says the Child.
What? Now I’m confused. Since when do Creators take refuge in caves? And what about the big red dude that already lives there? The one the Clay Man says I’m supposed to kill? None of it makes any sense, but I’m not going to quibble.
“Ummm, well then, good,” I say, doing my best to think on my feet. “I was meaning to have a word with him anyway.”
“You intend to speak to the Creator?” the Elemental asks, leaning forward as if to see me better. Multiple folds of flesh dangle from his outstretched chin.
“Yeah, I was going to try to talk some sense into him. I’ve met a lot of folks here who believe all the guests need to be sent home. They think Otherworld should belong to the Elementals, Children and Beasts.”
The Children begin whispering among themselves. The idea clearly excites them.
“No,” the Elemental announces. “Otherworld will never belong to us.”
The Children go silent as they register the betrayal. The stricken looks on their faces are horrible to behold.
“But, Father,” says the female who spoke earlier. “You’ve seen what the guests do to us. Dozens of your Children have died so far. We will not survive if they’re allowed to stay. They say there’s a war coming. The Creator must choose between the guests and his own creations.”
“Then he must choose the guests, and you must continue to suffer,” the Elemental tells his daughter. The words may be harsh, but he delivers them kindly.
“But, Father—”
“Without the guests, there is no reason for any of us to exist.” He looks down at me. “I cannot send you to the glacier. I will not allow you to speak with the Creator.”
I’ve come too far and seen too much to take no for an answer. The only person I love said she’d be waiting for me at the glacier. If she tries to fight the red guy on her own, she could die. My mission to save her will not be stopped by a toga-wearing Jabba the Hutt. Gritting my teeth, I drop down and reach for the dagger in my boot. Either the Elemental sends me where I need to go or I teach him the real meaning of suffering.
Carole must catch sight of the steel blade. “Simon, what in the hell are you doing?” she whispers.
It’s the last thing I hear before I’m no longer in Mammon.
All it takes is a single look around and I know I’ve really fucked up this time. I’m alone. Carole and Gorog are still in Mammon. I’ve lost all three people I was trying to help, and things aren’t looking so hot for me, either. I’m surrounded by dense jungle. The air is stiflingly humid—so thick that it would be easier to chew it than breathe it. I hear a man screaming in the distance. And the only weapon I’ve got is the dagger I was holding.
There’s a soft crunch behind me. If I hadn’t spent most of my childhood in the woods, I doubt I would have picked up on it. But I spin around just in time to see a man in forest camo barreling toward me with an axe raised high above his head. I duck to the side just as he brings the blade down. If I’d spotted him a second later, he’d have split me in half like a piece of kindling. And I get the impression I’m not the first person Rambo has tried to murder. He recovers quickly and he’s beaming when he comes at me again. The look on his face is one of sheer ecstasy. I can tell the dude really gets off on killing.
I won’t fight. I saw the bodies in the capsules. I saw what happens to them when they die, and I don’t know if Rambo’s wearing a disk. Acting against every instinct I’ve ever possessed, I turn and run instead. My avatar is fast, but my opponent’s no slouch, and he knows the jungle far better than I do. He stays right behind me. So when I see the opportunity to slip between the fronds of a prehistoric-size fern, I happily seize it.
Rambo isn’t easily fooled. The avatar runs past my hiding place, then comes to a stop.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” he calls. “I’ve got to be on a client call in fifteen minutes, and I need a good look at your intestines before I go.”
The crazy fucker is a headset player.
I’m engaged in a battle to the death with some random business guy who’s never going to die. He may lose his swag and be sent back to setup, but at the end of the day, it’s no big deal. Me? I die and I stay dead. Screw Milo Yolkin and his human experiments. What kind of lunatic lets people die just to figure out what’s killing them?
Fortunately, there is one clear advantage to fighting guests that won’t die. I can slaughter Rambo and keep my conscience nice and clean. I hear him stomping back in my direction. At first I think the jig is up, but then there’s the sound of a large animal darting through the trees nearby, and the avatar turns his beefy back to me. I step out of my hiding spot inside the fern and plunge my dagger between his ribs. Then I pull it out and shove the blade in again as far as it can go. Hot blood pours out of his body and over my hand. It feels fantastic. Not as good as sex, but damn close. It’s like the pressure that’s been building inside me has been released all at once. For a few glorious seconds my head clears, my rage is sated and my whole body feels lighter.
The avatar collapses in a heap at my feet. I steal his weapon and ransack his pockets. They’re totally empty. The only thing the psycho was carrying was his trusty axe. As I stand up, I can feel the pressure beginning to grow again. My head is pounding, and I ache for another release. I’ve never been addicted to drugs, but I’d bet this is what withdrawal feels like.
I crash through the jungle, hacking a jagged path through the vines and branches. Everything around me is green. Leaves the size of elephant ears block the sun, so the light at the forest floor level is dim. This is exactly the kind of env
ironment you’d expect to host dinosaurs. I wouldn’t be shocked to encounter a velociraptor here, but I have a hunch that the dangers in this world are human in nature. And that hunch is confirmed when something buzzes past my temple. A split second later, a handmade dart lodges in a nearby branch.
I slip behind a tree and scan the jungle for my assailant. At first I see no one. Then a shadow passes across a giant leaf about ten feet off the ground, and I throw my dagger toward the movement. I hear the blade hit something soft, and seconds later a body plummets to earth. I step out of my hiding place, well aware that there may be other killers around. Staying low, I cross the jungle to where I think the body fell. I find an avatar that’s about half the size of an average human, with dark green skin and long claws. The fall appears to have knocked it unconscious. My dagger is protruding from its thigh.
It ambushed me. It wanted to kill me. If its aim had been just a little bit better, it would probably be standing over me right now. I should rip the avatar apart and fling the pieces in every direction. But when I pull my knife out of its leg, a splatter of blood hits me, and the sight and smell remind me of Kat’s leg that night at the factory. I don’t know if the avatar belongs to a headset player—or to someone with a disk. So I grit my teeth until the almost-irresistible urge to kill him passes. Then I rip a strip of fabric from the bottom of my robe and fashion a tourniquet.
I confiscate the avatar’s blow darts and head off into the jungle. I take three steps before I hear a low growl and something springs onto my back. The weight of it almost brings me down. I don’t need to look to know it’s the avatar I just stopped myself from killing. I’m so enraged that I barely feel the teeth sink into my neck. I saved its life, and it’s still attacking. I pull out one of its darts, reach back and ram it into its side. The poison on the dart’s tip takes immediate action. The avatar slips off my shoulder. It’s dead when it lands at my feet. I kick the corpse over and over again until I feel the pressure in my head release. If the guy had a disk, this would be my first real kill. I don’t know if it will be my last. But I do know where I am now. I may not know the realm’s name, but it hardly matters. If Mammon was the land of greed, this one is fueled by rage. The Elemental of Mammon wanted me out of the way. He sent me here to this realm to die.