by P A Wikoff
Instead, I picked Potion Summoning, under the Item Summoning path, because it seemed like a great way to save money by not having to buy potions from a store. At least, that was my logic.
“You have assigned one advancement point to Potion Summoning. Please select a specialization: healing, damage, or protection.”
Not sure if I wanted to rely on constantly having to quaff a potion of protection all the time in order to survive, or if I could even hurl Molotov cocktails with my low Strength stat. So, I decided to go with healing. It was the safe bet.
“You have selected healing potions as your potion specialty. All other choices are no longer available to you.”
“Wait, what? You mean I can’t change my mind later?”
“All character advancement points cannot be undone once assigned.”
“How was I supposed to know that this was going to be a permanent choice?”
“You could have asked for assistance,” the voice said.
I just shook my head back and forth. I didn’t know if it was just me, but all artificial intelligence seemed to have the snarky maturity of a know-it-all teenager.
Another prompt appeared, “What kind of healing potion would you like to summon: instant healing, gradual healing or pre-healing?”
“If I choose one, will I not be able to change my mind later?” I begrudgingly asked.
“This advancement slot can be upgraded to level three—unlocking all healing potion summoning options, if you so desire.”
“But I still can’t ever summon a damage or protection potions in the future?”
“That is correct.”
“Okay.” I guess I would have to give a little more thought into my advancement choices next time; most importantly, when it referred to a “specialization” option.
Not knowing what pre-healing was, I landed on the safe choice.
“You can now summon instant healing potions that last one hour or until used.”
“Great,” I said rolling my eyes.
Next to the Summon Potion advancement skill, there was now a 1/3, which indicated that I could dump two more points into this skill if I wanted to later on. Although what was the point if protection and damage potions were no longer available to me? Did I really need three different types of healing potions?
Above my head appeared an empty box. It followed my head movements like a halo.
“What is your name?” the voice asked.
“Sephiroth Meyer,” I responded.
“I am sorry, you cannot use real names in Dreamscape Online.”
“Ok, fine. Sephiroth.”
“I am sorry, you cannot use celebrity character names in Dreamscape Online.”
“What?” If I don’t use my real name, how is my mom going to know it is me? Also, if she can’t use Thanos, her character’s name, how will I know it is her?
This whole thing was going to be much harder than I expected.
“Jim. My name is Jim.”
“I’m sorry, you cannot use names associated with your criminal record in Dreamscape Online.”
“Damn it! Come on.” I wasn’t looking for cool points. I just needed something my parents would recognize…
“How about Seph? Is that name taken or a violation in some robo code?”
“Seph is an acceptable name for Dreamscape Online.”
“This is it. It’s perfect.”
“Congratulations! Your character SEPH, the HUMAN SUMMONOR, has been created. Are you ready to begin?”
Above my head loomed two simple words, “yes” and “no.” This was it. Was I really ready to move on with my three-year sentencing?
Damn right I am.
By selecting “yes,” I had locked in my fate. My previous life was ending, and the rest of my online life was about to truly begin.
Chapter Ten
Peter Pack Rat
B efore the game had even loaded, I was hit with a giant prompt, which clearly read, “Would you like to play through the tutorial?”
I thought long and hard about how disinterested I was with games in general, then I switched my mind over to how much I despised pointless gameplay even more so. The purpose of a tutorial was to handhold idiots who couldn’t figure out the simple mechanics you learn within the first five minutes of gameplay. In my opinion, they were invented to prevent rage-quitting.
How hard can it be? Just point and click.
In the past, any tutorial I’d ever done with a game, or otherwise, had proven to be a total waste of time, in that I’d never gained anything important. That was why they were optional. And the worst part was that once you agreed to them, it was nearly impossible to cancel out of the thing.
I was sure I could figure it out on my own. I didn’t think of myself as dumb or an idiot by any standards, but when it came to games, maybe I wasn’t the most experienced. Admittedly, I could have benefited from a little guidance and instruction, but on principle alone, I couldn’t do it.
“No, thank you,” I said, impressed with myself somehow, like I had refused a free t-shirt or something.
“Are you absolutely sure?” the voice pressed.
I looked back at the clock that read “1095” in bright neon lights. Three years. I had to play a game for three solid years without any breaks. I wasn’t going to waste it on optional content.
“Yes. Let’s get on with it.”
The world around me crumbled away and dissolved while something new replaced it…
***
I was flying—soaring, really—right through puffy white clouds like a bird. Instead of feathers, my shoulder-length hair flapped against my neck with excitement. I felt so pure and free, but mostly freezing cold.
My heart found its fast rhythm, similar to the beat it played when I rode on my Sky bike. But unlike the trip with my Sky bike, the air up here was clean and wonderful. It smelled like rain, but not the cologne some company tried to bottle up a couple of years ago. This was the real thing, true rain.
For the first time, I understood why they had tried to market such a smell. It was refreshingly magical. Too bad they had failed at capturing the essence of the moment. Some things can never be duplicated. Except now it had. How was it that this game had managed to succeed at something a huge corporation had failed at? To be fair, whoever developed this game was also part of a big corporation with lots of funding. I would think that they would be focusing on game mechanics and such, not investing so much on a simple scent, even if it was really quite grand.
It was right then that I realized that there was zero chance this was a digital game. It had to be something else, something new, something better than anything before. Kind of like how my image had been depicted a few moments ago. It was me, absolutely; a better version of me, but still me, nonetheless. This was existence, but a better version of existence.
Gliding left and banking right, I was on some kind of autopilot. Just going with the flow, I stretched my arms out wide until I came across a quaint mountaintop village. It had a couple of structures with black plumes of smoke billowing out their chimneys. Behind a church was a hillside graveyard with decorative crosses adorning tall gravestones. Avoiding that area of town with a sharp right turn, I saw a cave with a single path meandering down the fuzzy green hillside.
There were some squat-looking creatures walking about. One took a couple steps, then turned around and took a couple more. Its movements didn’t seem at all natural nor gave any indication of what it was trying to do.
Games, I thought to myself.
Coming down was scary, yet exhilarating, as I made a final pass through the tree line. Leaves rustled as I brushed past them down further towards a brick mansion, and into an open window. The shutters slammed closed behind me and all turned black.
***
Tucked inside a soft bed, my eyes flashed open. It had a warmth that could only have come from a full night’s slumber. My arms tightened against the fur hide that covered me. It was cozy. For a brief second, I
forgot who or what I was.
Then it all came back to me in a foggy, nearly painful sort of way. Like trying to remember the events of a previous night while nursing a hangover. Did I make it? Is this the game? It doesn’t feel like a game.
Hopping around the ceiling rafters was a tiny songbird singing its cheerful little song. This was a much better way to wake up than what I was accustomed to.
“What do you have to sing about?” I asked the finch. At least I thought that’s what it was, though I’d never seen one outside of archived images.
“There’s a nest,” a man’s wispy voice said.
In one swift motion, I kicked off the fur covers, launched into a sitting position, and held both my fists high in front of my face. The whites of my eyes gave an expression that must have said “Who are you, and are you ready to defend yourself?” Not that I knew what to do if the answer to my threatening look was “yes.”
Here I thought I was alone, in what looked like a traditional room in a medieval inn. What I found instead was a stranger sitting in an upholstered armchair next to my bed. He sported a long mustache that had quite a bit of personality to it—wildly twisting and turning in all directions. He had big ears and wore a heavy blue coat. His aesthetic was so strange, I almost pegged him to be a non-human.
“The eggs hatched last week. They’re terribly cute, if you ask me. You should take a closer look, if you get a chance.”
“What are you doing here?” I vocalized, unsure if the man had understood my look of horror and clenched fists.
The man cleared his throat before speaking. “Good afternoon, ye traveler.”
This has to be a non-player character. These types of games always stick quest givers in the most bizarre places in order to shoehorn you into their linear adventure. It was something my dad always complained about, and now I could relate.
I looked over to the window shutters and thought about jumping out of them, throwing off the whole quest path.
This is no time to rebel against the machine. Just go with it. “Let’s get this over with,” I mumbled to myself. “What do you want me to do for you? A fetch quest, maybe, or perhaps an escort?”
“No, no, no, nothing as trivial as such. I am simply Asber, and welcome to my shop-ay,” the man said, with one raised eyebrow that was just as wild as his mustache.
“Shop? Like a store?” Why did he say it like that?
“Exacto-ly.”
I gave the room a once-over but saw no signs, display cases, or any indication that this was anything more than a room inside of an inn or common house. Nothing like a “shop,” as he put it.
“This game is amazing,” I said. The detail, colors, textures, and shading were all so perfect.
“Shhh, don’t say such things aloud. It is a no-no.”
“What did I say?”
“The G-A-M-E word.”
Was restricting the word “game” in order to prevent people from ruining the ambience of the fantasy theme?
“Oh wow, okay. I didn’t know.”
“Let me guess, ye didn’t finish the tutorial?”
“Yes, I did,” I lied. “And even if I hadn’t, what does that have to do with anything?”
“Oh no, you has not. Fibbers will be glibbers.”
“What in the world is a ‘glibber’?”
“Yooou are.”
“Whatever. How come you can say ‘tutorial,’ but I can’t say ‘game’?”
“Eeek, there it ‘tis again,” Asber squeaked. “Ye would have all the answers if ye had, um…”—he let out a subtle cough—“…done the tutorial.”
What the heck is wrong with this binary?
I looked at the craziness of the man’s facial hair and let the scene really sink in. After a beat, it hit me. “You’re not an NPC, are you?”
“Of course, I’m not a non-pla…one of those. I’m your friendly bedside businessman.”
“Wha?” I got out of bed, not accepting his response in the slightest. Just because he said he was “friendly” didn’t mean that his actions were not super creepy.
A cool breeze crawled up my legs, like an intrusive hand. This was the point where I realized I was wearing only undergarments, and not the enchanted-looking robe that I had on during the character-creation phase.
Leaning back in his chair, Asber averted his gaze. “A little hasty, are we now?”
“Where are my things?”
“Calm down, friend. I meaneth no harm.”
“Please stop trying to roleplay with me.
His mouth hung slack-jawed. “What do you mean?”
“You’re really bad at it. That’s what tipped me off that you were a player. Programs write better dialog than that—much better.” What mostly tipped me off was his atrocious attempt at an accent. I couldn’t figure out if he was going for pirate or cowboy.
With a slight pout of his lip, Asber looked down with a shrug. “I will try and work on it.”
“Please don’t. Is this some kind of R.P. server or something?”
“Brother, I wish,” he said with a forlorn sigh. “Unfortunately, it is what it is.”
“Which is what?”
“A grand, in-character experience.”
I caught myself rolling my eyes.
“Because you’re new, I’ll let it slide, but don’t go running your mouth off about ‘games’ or any such things around NPCs or monsters. They will not be pleased with any out-of-character commentary, and you will get reported directly to a sysmod.”
“Sysmod?”
“A Systems Moderator. They are basically the gods of this place. If you play by their rules, you won’t get into trouble.”
“Their rules? You mean the rules of the game?”
“Stop saying that. And, no—their rules.”
“What are they going to do to me if I don’t? Put me in jail?”
“Yes.”
“You’re serious? There’s a jail inside this online prison? Why? That seems redundant as all hell.”
“Well, active days are what you need. While you’re in lockup, it pauses your active days until your release…”
“That’s insane. And what if I try and break out of jail? Do they put me inside a jail, inside the jail, inside this online prison? How far back does the onion peel?”
“No, they just do bad stuff to you.”
“That is vague. How am I supposed to follow the rules when I don’t even know what they are?”
“You go through the tutorial. Ha!” Asber said with an excited smile and accusatory finger.
“Don’t start with that again.”
“I knew you were lying. What can I say, I have a taste for these things?” Asber said, puffing up his shoulders.
A taste for these things? Like he enjoyed eating lies. I decided to ignore it altogether. “Forget it. We’re not in a game. I won’t mention it to anyone. Gotcha.”
“Splendid. Now, this one time, I met this player…”
As Asber rambled on about something or other, I tried to ignore him and continue on with the game, or rather, “in-character experience.”
“Equip clothes,” I said, but nothing seemed to change. “Inventory. Put on inventory.”
Maybe I was saying the command correctly, but I didn’t have anything to put on. “Locate clothing. Find equipment. Help,” I said tersely.
Nothing was working. How did this world work? Without the use of a keyboard, console, or joystick, how was I supposed to do anything? Not that I minded not having to rely on those carpel tunnel-inducing things. Plus, my hand-eye coordination was not up to par with the rest of the world, which had been gaming since birth.
“Menu. Operator. Diagnostic. How do I turn this thing off and back on again?”
“Do you want me to give you a private tutorial?” Asber asked.
“No tutorials! You stay where you are,” I said, looking inside some empty dresser drawers. I still wasn’t sure I was completely okay with a strange player in my room while I tried to
dress myself.
“Just admit that you lied, and I will help you out.”
“Nope. I don’t want your help. This is just a stupid game.”
“Suit yourself, but I don’t think it’s the game that’s stupid,” Asber said, quite “out of character.”
After slamming the door to the empty closet, I took a moment to think.
This is only a video game, and a very realistic one at that. Possibly the most realistic one ever invented. There has to be a menu somewhere, or something to help me access my stats and such. Gamers love to stare at those kinds of things.
“Show command prompts.”
Nothing happened.
I let out a drawn-out sigh.
“Let me give you a little hint. This is a special safety room.”
“I don’t want it. I don’t need your help.”
“Nevertheless, I’m giving it to you anyway. The moment you exit that door, things will become a lot easier…well, a lot more understandable,” Asber said, pointing to the exit on the far side of the room.
And here I thought it was a door to the bathroom. Still, I didn’t trust him. There is no way I am going out that door since he suggested it.
“Safety rooms are used to relax, prepare your loadouts, and have little chats,” Asber said, scrunching his nose at the word “chats.”
“Chats? Is that what you call trolling me?”
Asber let out a generous amount of laughter, as if it was precisely what he was doing.
“Okay, what do you want, and how can I get you to go away?” I finally said what was really on my mind.
“I am glad you asked. Come, if you would. Browse my wares.”
Reluctantly, I walked over to him, wrapping my arms around myself as the cold started to bite at my exposed skin.
“We have jerkins, tattered robes, greaves, and anything else a fresh character like you would need to set off on your wonderful adventure.” He pulled each article of clothes out from the inside of his blue coat pocket. Much like a clown car, they just kept coming, one after another.