Trapped in the Games Grid

by George Ivanoff

  You begin to walk.

  To the right, you see a fine thread of wire strung across the circuit landscape. Boxes travel along the wire, in the direction you are heading.

  ‘They are obsolete information packets,’ says Cursor, ‘travelling along a communications wire to the De-Rez Sea for deletion.’

  You wonder if you can hitch a lift on one of these info-packs.

  ‘I am unable to control them,’ says Cursor. ‘We should walk.’

  Is that concern in Cursor’s voice? There hasn’t been any hint of emotion in your guide’s voice before now.

  If you decide to take Cursor’s advice and walk, go here.

  But if you’ d rather try to get on an info-pack, go here.

  You don’t want to face the porcupines. You want out of this game.

  You close your eyes and reach up to your forehead, pulling off the suction cups.

  Opening your eyes, you sit up in the virtual reality chair, relieved that you’re no longer covered in bird poo.

  Well, that was weird. But now it’s time to get out of here!

  Go here.

  You walk up to the communications wire and watch an approaching info-pack, the wire sizzling with energy as it passes. How do you stop one?

  On a whim, you stick out your thumb as if hitchhiking. To your utter amazement, an info-pack grinds to a halt. Cursor’s head tilts to one side in surprise. You climb on and indicate that Cursor should follow. Your guide seems hesitant.

  As Cursor touches the info-pack, alarms blare.

  The wires above you begin to vibrate. In the distance you see movement, dark shapes scuttling through the web towards you.

  ‘Spydars,’ announces Cursor.

  What?

  ‘Applications designed to seek out and neutralise unauthorised access,’ explains Cursor. ‘They consume other applications.’

  Is that fear in Cursor’s voice?

  The digital figure looks at you with an expressionless face. ‘I am an application.’

  The shapes scuttle ever closer across the Intra-Web. These spydars look like giant robotic spiders. Massive black bodies covered in fibre-optic strands, eight segmented legs, dozens of camera-lens eyes and sharp, metallic pincers.

  As the first of the spydars arrive, they descend on threads of wire.

  Cursor backs away, bumping into the communications wire, sending a crackle of energy sizzling through it.

  Perhaps you can use the wire to defend yourself? Or maybe you could think up a weapon like you did in the Ghost House game? Will that even work out here?

  If you want to work with the wire, go here.

  If you want to try to get a weapon, go here.

  You follow the numbers as they glide across the blank landscape.

  They lead you to a perfect cube of densely packed numerals. It’s about half your height, with layers of numbers, like mathematical onionskins. The outer layer is made up of zeros. The next three layers are ones, then another layer of zeros, after which it becomes difficult to discern.

  The row of numbers you followed here hovers above the cube and transforms. The digits swap places, some of them winking out of existence. You reach out and touch it.

  Briefly, the numbers transform into letters: MCP.

  You look down at the cube. This is the Matrix Computer Program? You tentatively brush your fingers along its surface. Deep within the cube, right at its very core, a digit glows red. It’s not a one or a zero like all the other numbers that comprise the binary coding. It’s a seven.

  An electronic voice booms: ‘Virus detected! Launch antivirus software.’

  The MCP considers you a computer virus!

  A sound like a swarm of angry bees buzzes in the distance. You look around. You see the source – high in the sky is a tornado of swirling numbers heading straight for you.

  If you want to run away, go here.

  But maybe it would be better to dismantle the MCP? Go here.

  You head towards the numerical city, ducking and dodging numbers as you go.

  It doesn’t take you long to reach the outskirts. The ones and zeros are stacked together in neat arrangements. You can see streets and highways crowded with sequences of numbers moving along in ordered patterns.

  It’s beautiful numerical perfection! You reach out and touch the wall of the nearest building.

  An electronic voice booms: ‘Virus detected! Launch antivirus software.’

  But you’re not a computer virus – are you?

  A sound like a swarm of angry bees buzzes in the distance. You look around. You see the source – high in the sky is a tornado of swirling numbers heading straight for you!

  If you want to run into the city to find shelter, go here.

  But if you think you have a better chance of outrunning the number tornado in the open, go here.

  You concentrate really hard, wishing for a bazooka.

  Sure enough, there’s one lying on the ground. You pick it up, shoulder it and aim at the nearest spydar.

  You pull the trigger.

  A ball of fiery energy explodes from the end of the tube, almost knocking you over with the recoil. It hits the spydar that’s menacing Cursor, hurtling it into the other spydar behind it. The two creatures are blasted across the landscape.

  Wow!

  But there are hundreds more of them scuttling across the Intra-Web. You aim the bazooka and fire again.

  The ball of energy hits the web, breaking apart the wires. To your dismay, the entire Intra-Web collapses, the strands falling and pinning you and Cursor to the ground.

  The spydars descend with the web, swarming over Cursor to get towards you, their pincers outstretched.

  You and Cursor continue to walk across the Borderlands.

  You notice a silver nodule on the ground, and crouch to examine it.

  ‘Don’t touch it,’ warns Cursor. ‘It is a node. Contact with it will transport you to another game.’

  You nod and resume your journey.

  Soon you come to an expanse of area covered in orange cones that look a lot like traffic cones.

  ‘Quiet,’ whispers Cursor. ‘They are bug nests.’

  You tiptoe forward as silently as possible. But you don’t notice the silicone chips that litter the ground between the cones until you step on one.

  CRACK!

  Thousands of bugs come streaming out from the nests. They are tiny mechanical creatures with microphones on their antennae.

  You run and they swarm after you and Cursor. The air is filled with crunching sounds as you step on bugs and chips. Dashing past the final cone you inadvertently step on a node.

  Go here.

  The spydars pounce on Cursor, pinning your guide down with their metallic legs, their pincers open wide.

  You surge forward grappling with the nearest spydar, shoving it towards the communications wire.

  As the spydar touches the wire, energy courses through its metal body, to the Intra-Web above. Deadly energy sizzles through the web, illuminating the sky like a lightning storm. Seconds later, hundreds of metallic bodies are raining down onto the landscape. You’ve turned the web into a giant bug-zapper!

  The first spydar, overloaded with power, bursts apart in a flash of pixelated colour and the connection is broken.

  You hold out your hand to Cursor, helping your guide to stand up.

  Cursor stares at you. ‘You are not an application. The spydars would not have harmed you if you left them alone.’

  You nod.

  Cursor stares at you a while longer, head tilting from one side to the other. ‘You have my thanks.’

  You nod again … and smile.

  Climbing onto the info-pack, you help Cursor up. No more alarms. No more spydars.

  The info-pack surges forward, zipping along the communications line at blinding speed. The landscape, dotted with dead spydars, streaks past. Minutes later you are approaching the De-Rez Sea.

  ‘Jump,’ instructs Cursor.

  Jump?
But you’re going too fast. You hesitate.

  Cursor pushes you off, then jumps. You crash to the ground and tumble to the water’s edge.

  You watch as the info-pack plunges into the sea. The silvery liquid bubbles as the info-pack dissolves in a spray of pixels. That could have been you.

  As you stare at the sea, the island visible in the distance, you thank your guide.

  ‘If you had dissolved, I would have had no one to guide.’

  Did this emotionless digital person just make a joke?

  ‘We should construct a boat,’ suggests Cursor.

  But you’re not sure. You think that climbing into the Intra-Web might be a better way across.

  If you decide to build a boat, go here.

  If you prefer to climb into the Intra-Web, go here.

  As the horde of buzzing numbers descends, you run across the blank landscape. No longer careful about the other numbers, you smash through gliding numerical sequences recklessly. Each time you touch one, it momentarily changes into a word – RUN, DELETE, VIRUS.

  You can hear the antivirus software catching up behind you. Risking a glance over your shoulder, you trip over a number and sprawl to the ground.

  The tornado engulfs you. You scramble to your feet, buffeted and battered by whirling numbers, but each time you’re hit, a little piece of you transforms into a number. Those numbers then join the others, spinning around you in a surreal mathematical whirlwind.

  With increasing speed you are whittled away. Soon you are nothing more than zeros and ones.

  As the horde of buzzing numbers descends, you run into the city, dashing along the streets, crashing through crowds of gliding numerical sequences.

  In your haste, you trip over a number and stumble into the side of a building. The number wall gives way and the building begins to collapse.

  You continue running.

  As the building crashes, the numerical rubble cascades into the next structure, causing it to fall apart. Within seconds the domino effect takes over, as structure after structure collapses. You are running through the street, with numbers raining around you.

  You stumble and sprawl to the ground, looking up just in time to see a mass of digits cascading down.

  Crushed beneath the weight, you are buried in a mathematical grave.

  You think the seven in the centre of the cube must be the key to stopping the MCP.

  You prise one of the outer zeros loose. Dropping it on the ground, you take out the next digit … and the next. Above you the buzzing sound is getting closer.

  As you get deeper into the cube, the numbers become easier to remove. But will you make it in time?

  The numerical tornado that is the antivirus software hits, just as you are one digit away from the seven. Buffeted and battered by the swirling numbers, you continue, refusing to give up. Removing the last obstructing digit, you grasp the seven and yank it from the cube.

  There is a tearing shriek. The antivirus software collapses, the numerals dropping to the ground. The cube falls apart.

  And everything goes dark.

  Without the MCP to run the Games Grid Matrix, it has shut down … with you still inside it.

  Is this the end?

  There’s a soft glow in your hand. You look down. It’s the number seven. It’s getting brighter.

  By the light of the red digit, the other numbers rise up, forming into rows around you – enclosing you in numerical walls.

  Your consciousness expands. You understand the numbers. You sense all the games in the Games Grid. You can control them. You see possibilities.

  Your physical form fades away. You become a complex binary numeric sequence.

  You suddenly realise that life is a game. And your purpose is to play.

  You are the new MCP!

  You make a pile of dead spydars and climb up their bodies to the Intra-Web. Getting through the layer of wire webbing is difficult, but once you are through it’s like being on a net. You find that you can crawl along it quite easily. You head towards the island.

  Unfortunately it is not so easy for Cursor. Your guide struggles forward, but is soon snared.

  ‘I am caught. Go on alone. You do not need me.’

  Can you leave your guide in the web?

  If you want to do as Cursor says and continue alone, go here.

  But if you decide to try to free Cursor, go here.

  You refuse to leave Cursor behind, so you crawl across the webbing towards your guide.

  You yank the wires. They don’t budge. You lash out, kicking at them. But they are strong, holding fast.

  You crawl back across the web and drop to the shore. Leaning down, you wrench a sharp pincer from one of the dead spydars, then climb back up into the web.

  Reaching Cursor, you start hacking at the ensnaring wires. One by one they snap. But, unexpectedly, all the wires around you and Cursor loosen and break as if they are deliberately letting you go.

  ‘I’ve always hated swimming,’ says Cursor, matter-of-factly.

  You don’t get the chance to laugh, as the two of you plunge into the silvery depths of the De-Rez Sea … and dissolve within seconds.

  Disruptor held at the ready you begin the search for the centre of the maze, blasting ghosts as you go.

  You seem to instinctively know which way to turn. It’s not long before you reach the central room.

  On a plinth, is a golden statue of a joystick.

  You grasp it and press the trigger.

  Suddenly you are enclosed in a circle of light, a disc of sizzling energy descending towards you. As the disc passes through you, your muscles spasm and your skin tingles. You feel the energy changing you again.

  The suction cups fall away and you sit up in the virtual reality chair. Your head aches and your hands are shaking. Th is Games Grid Matrix is scary. Dangerous, even!

  Perhaps you should destroy it before someone else uses it?

  If you want to break the Games Grid Matrix, go here.

  Then again, you’re out of the matrix and it’s no longer your problem. If you think it’s best to ring your parents so that they can get you out of the arcade, go here.

  Instantaneously, you find yourself standing in the centre of a curved room. Colours flash across the encircling wall. Cursor is beside you.

  A deep electronic voice booms out, the colours on the wall vibrating in time with the speech. ‘Cursor, you are redundant.’

  Your digital guide blazes with light, flickers and winks out of existence.

  ‘Congratulations on making it here,’ says the MCP, as a stretched face appears on the wall. It extends the full circumference, joining into itself. ‘So nice to meet you. Now, I have a very important question.’

  The mouth broadens into a ridiculously wide grin.

  ‘Shall we play a game?’

  To accept, go here.

  To refuse, go here.

  Leaving Cursor behind, you crawl along the Intra-Web, over the De-Rez Sea, to the Island of Security Protocols. Parting the web, you drop down onto the sand.

  Before you is a brick path leading towards the Castle of Containment. In front of the massive portcullis stands a knight in shining armour.

  You wish you had a weapon.

  Beside the path is a stone with a sword in it – just like in the story of King Arthur. Not quite what you had in mind, but at least it’s something.

  An engraved plaque on the stone reads: Blade of Access.

  You look from the stone to the knight. The knight is motionless.

  But drawing the sword might provoke it. Do you want to risk that? Then again, you are defenceless without a weapon.

  If you want to take the sword, go here.

  If you decide to approach the knight unarmed, go here.

  This Games Grid Matrix is too dangerous. You feel it’s your duty to destroy it.

  You wrench the rods off the chair’s headrest. You kick at the box beside the chair until it cracks. Reaching inside, you yank out a handf
ul of wires. Sparks fly and smoke belches from inside.

  You race out into the arcade and search behind the front counter. Finding a hammer, you return and smash it through one of the wall screens. Not satisfied, you throw the hammer at the sign suspended from the ceiling. The neon letters explode with a shower of sparks, the suspension wire snaps and the sign crashes down onto the chair.

  Moments later security guards are running into the room and grabbing you. You are taken to the police station and charged with vandalism. Your parents are called. They are not happy about the whopping huge fine that they will have to pay because of what you’ve done.

  You end up being given community service as punishment. Every weekend for the next year, it’s your job to clean up dog poo from all the parks in your suburb.

  No, you don’t want to play any more games. You just want to get out of here and go home.

  ‘No?’ The MCP sounds disappointed. ‘Are you sure? After all, I am a games computer. It’s what I do. It’s my purpose. It’s why I have brought you here. So … come on. How about a nice game of chess? I promise it’ll be quick.’ The stretched face looks at you hopefully.

  To accept, go here.

  To refuse, go here.

  Instead of picking up the tokens, you ask Mr Kudou what’s on the disk.

  ‘What?’ he shouts at you.

  You repeat the question a little louder.

  ‘Something that will forever change the state of gaming,’ he says, plugging the disk drive into his computer. ‘It’s an AI program – artificial intelligence. It was developed by Dr Joshua Falken for a secret government project. But when he realised the government wanted to use it as a weapon, to build an intelligent battle computer, he went on the run, taking the program with him. He came here and we ran this games arcade together. One day he arrived at work in a panic. He said the government had tracked him down and he told me the story I’ve just told you. He said he had hidden the program so that the government would never get it.