Godslayer Rising

I stared up at the scene bursting from the side of the gaming parlor. Holographic images loomed overhead, showcasing a slew of fantasy races I’d never seen before. Above them, even larger figures frowned down at passersby like gods on mere mortals. Under the sign, text scrolled by like an old-timey marquee:

The Adventure of a Thousand Lifetimes! Limitless Quests, Storylines, and Characters! Ever-changing and Always Fascinating! Play The Everlands Today! 

Stupid as I might look, I couldn’t keep a grin from my face. But enough people crowded around with jaws dropped like nutcrackers that I was in good company.

Despite the flashy advertisement mounted on its wall, the Burly Maiden looked nowhere sleek enough to house the first total-immersion virtual reality game. It looked like it’d been transported from a medieval German town, complete with half-timbered walls and a faux-thatched roof. 

But I knew better. I’d stared at it, frothing at the bit to enter, for long enough to know what lay inside.

And today was the day I’d worm my way in.

I would have already, even if it did cost a fortune per hour of gameplay, if not for one teensy problem: you had to be 21 to enter the parlors where you could play it on account of it still being in an open beta phase and considered a risk for “kids.” 

At 17, I was apparently considered the same as babies in diapers and 12-year-olds T-bagging strangers online. Go figure.

My friends, geeks and nerds down to the last of them, had all resigned themselves to waiting until they “came of age” to try it. With a lifetime ban threatened for minors who did manage to sneak in, none of them thought it was worth trying to skip the line.

I fell on the other side of the issue. But despite my best efforts, nothing had paid off yet. 

I’d hunted down that one guy every school seems to have who makes fake IDs for all the jocks and cheerleaders and requisitioned one myself. But when I tried flashing it, the bouncer didn’t buy it. Maybe it was the distinct lack of facial hair, or my underwhelming, adolescent stature, or that I ended up being the fifth one that day to try it.

But I didn’t give up. Next, I convinced my older brother, who was 22, to try and “escort” me in, but apparently that wasn’t going to fly either. I would have tried pretending to be my older brother but, well, I’m skinny and he’s fat, so that wouldn’t pan out too well.

But finally, after staking out the place for a week, I’d found a way. Today, I’d enter the parlor and log in to the huge, wide world of the Everlands. I’d explore a new, better reality. I’d become someone new.

It wasn’t that I hated my life. Sure, I was having a bad run with the ladies at the moment. Karen, my girlfriend of ten months — ex-girlfriend now — had wanted me to say the big “L” word, but I wasn’t ready for that. How the hell was I supposed to say I loved her when more than half the time I’d rather kick it with the guys and bust aliens on Halo? To make matters worse, Karen was part of our friend group, one of three gamer-chicks in our high school, and she played the saxophone, just like me. So there was no escaping her anywhere I went.

And sure, my home life could be better. My brother was causing waves by moving in with his girlfriend after they’d only been dating for three months. My parents — divorced — had started squabbling about it every chance they could get. Somehow, my issues got thrown into the mix: my plummeting grades, my lack of initiative in applying to colleges (I’d skipped a year of school in grade school), and, of course, the main problem of all: my so-called video game addiction. 

What they didn’t understand was that my passion for video games wasn’t an addiction, a disease, something you caught and cured — it was a way of life. Maybe it bothered me a little bit when I was struggling through my insomnia to sleep. But mostly, I knew there was nothing I’d rather be doing.

Suffice to say, I was ready to have the time of my life playing The Everlands.

Everything I’d heard made it out to be just as epic as I’d imagined. While the original code was architected by humans, the world was maintained, changed, and innovated now by limited AIs who doubled as in-game gods. Sure, they’d have their coders’ biases, but otherwise, they wouldn’t have the limitations a human would have. They could work tirelessly and execute an infinite number of possibilities flawlessly, making the virtual reality, as their advertising went, truly unlimited, as well as free of overbearing hands. How it developed from here on out was in the hands of the players and their choices within the world.

I was literally sweating to get started. 

But first, I had to infiltrate. Even if it risked a lifetime ban from the game, I was determined to play, if only for an hour or two. It would be worth it to rub it in my friends’ faces.

I moved around to the back of the building through a narrow alley to the dumpster at the back of the Burly Maiden. Ducking behind it, I put down my backpack and quickly took out the kitchen outfit I’d stolen from the trash a few days ago and put it on over my clothes. It had a stain down the front and was a size too large, but I cinched my belt and set my resolve. If I failed, I’d never get to play. Or as close to never as counted — three and a half years was a lifetime in the gaming world. I didn’t want to be playing dinosaurs while the sleek starship lay just out of grasp.

So I walked up to the back door and took a deep breath. This way led to the kitchens, I knew from my week of stakeouts. I didn’t have a key, but people regularly came out back for smoke breaks and tossing out the trash. I took out the pack of cigarettes I’d snuck from Dad’s supply at home, knocked one into my hand, then clumsily set to lighting the end. I didn’t smoke, but I pretended to be lazily doing so, leaning against the parlor wall, until someone finally came out the door. 

The heavyset, older woman immediately spotted me and donned a scowl. “What are doing back here? Get to work, or I’ll make sure you don’t work another day of your life!”

I sneered a little, as I thought my cover character might, then slouched inside the door the woman held open for me, her eyes scrutinizing me the whole way. “And tomorrow,” she said to my back, “come with a clean shirt!”

I hid my smile as I pressed through the swinging door and into the bustling kitchen. People moved everywhere, and steaming smells assaulted my nose. Some of the food was the same as could be found at any bar, but there was a specialty line for the more hardcore gamers: a whole wall of the kitchen dedicated to rows upon rows of blenders and food processors. They were for making sure those people who stayed under longer than a day (the recommended limit was 24 hours, but the parlor wouldn’t cut them off until 72 hours had passed) still had the sustenance to keep them alive and relatively healthy. Same went for hydration and bathroom business. I sympathized, but I couldn’t see myself going that far. I mean, it might be the best game ever made, but in the end, The Everlands was still just a game. Have some self-respect, people!

But it was easy for me to say from this side of the game.

Everyone was so busy that people barely glanced at me except to note my stain with disdainful looks. I ignored them and passed through, my stomach a jangle of nerves and excitement. It was working. I couldn’t believe this was so easy. 

“Hey, man, where you going?”

My blood ran cold. I slowly turned around to see a long-faced, long-haired twenty-something guy staring at me with bloodshot eyes.

“Just to the bathroom,” I said as casually as I could. I gestured to my shirt. “Spilled a little something.”

The guy slowly looked down at my stain. I swear a whole minute passed before a slow smile spread across his face. “Yeah, man. Get that cleaned up. Then I could use a hand on Station 6, you know?”

“Yeah, man,” I said, imitating his slow drawl. The guy was clearly out of his mind baked. “I’ll see you there.”

He gave a slow nod, then made his way back towards the kitchens. I had just turned around myself when he said, “Oh. Bathroom’s that way.” 

I grinned, hoping I didn’t look too guilty. “Right. Still kind of new here.”

The guy just nodded and walked as slow as if he were on the moon. I shook my head and followed the hallway he’d pointed down to the bathroom. There, I slipped off the kitchen clothes and stuffed them in the trash can, revealing my regular street clothes underneath. If need be, I could always come back and retrieve them to leave. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be anything too gross on them, but I was willing to take the risk.

Taking another deep breath to calm my bubbling excitement, I stepped out of the bathroom and followed the signs to the hubs. There, extending on both sides of the hallway, I saw the terminal rooms for The Everlands. They reached all the way to the back, then curled around out of sight. There were at least twenty in this first hallway. I walked down it, itching to get a look at the simulation rigs. But all the doors were closed and the windows tinted black. No peep show for outsiders; you got complete privacy other than the services you requested.

All of the first hall’s rooms were full, so I turned the corner to the second. As I did, I saw a big hulking man in a black polo coming down the way. Clearly a security guard. Alarm bells ringing in my head and worst-case scenarios flashing by like a video in fast-forward, I put on a friendly smile as I glanced at the man, while the corner of my eye spied an open room. I quickly ducked into it, but the security guy caught up to me first, stopping in front of my door and silently demanding an explanation.

I put on an apologetic grin. “Just going for a quick whiz.”

The ape’s eyes darted to the door, and I suddenly realized the others had had something displayed there. No doubt a digital timecard or something like that, telling the staff how long the person had left to play. The one on my door, of course, was blank. I thought quickly. “Oh yeah, that,” I said with a little laugh. “The guy that helped me said that this one wasn’t working properly. He was getting a tech to fix it.”

The man stared at me unblinking a little longer so that I couldn’t help but shift my feet a little. Finally, though, he turned and continued stalking down the hall.

I didn’t waste time slipping out the door and continuing on. I wasn’t about to stay in that room when security was suspicious of me. My only chance was to find another room, plug in, and hope the staff didn’t notice the blank timecard for a while.

I slipped into a room further down the hall and closed the door before flipping on the light switch. I drew in a breath as I saw it before me. The sim rig looked like a broken-down version of an MRI machine, with the addition of a headset that would encompass my entire face when I put it on. The thing looked like an accident waiting to happen if I tried working it myself. But if I wanted to play The Everlands, that was the only way I could do it. Not only was I too young, but there was also no way I could afford more than ten minutes under. I’d just have to wing it.

Searching through the menus on the console nearby, I managed to find my way to the activation sequence. Stumbling through the part where it asked how long I wished to play, I increased the time for as long as it would allow, 72 hours, figuring someone would wake me long before that time anyway. I skimmed the instructions and cautionary warnings, then tapped the green START button at the bottom. 

A woman’s voice with a British accent started to give me instructions. “Please lie down on the bed and secure the visor.” I did as she said, fiddling around with the headset to make sure it fit right. The bed was surprisingly comfortable, feeling made of memory foam 2.0 or something. Once I’d properly gotten the visor on, the console said, “Put your arms by your sides and lie on your back. You will now be entering the virtual reality simulator.”

The excitement and fear of being caught made it almost impossible to lie still, but I managed it as the bed slowly slid under the capsule. I don’t know if it was all the emotions clanging inside of me, but I felt a bout of claustrophobia coming on. Just as I was about to call it quits, the woman’s voice spoke from all around me. “Your play time will be 72 hours. Is this correct? Please answer with Yes or No to continue.”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation.

“Play time confirmed. I am obliged to remind you that while your time will be limited to 72 hours in reality, within the simulation, time passes much faster, so it will appear to be many more days.”

“That’s fine.”

“Remember also that you may log off at any time. Now please relax and enjoy your journey, adventurer. Welcome to the Everlands.”

The machine hummed to life. Suddenly, I couldn’t feel my toes, my hands, or any other part of my body. I couldn’t hear, taste, smell, or see. I tried swallowing down the panic, but I couldn’t feel myself do that either. Then there was a flash of bright light as the projection lasers hit my eyes, and I felt myself fall away like I’d been knocked unconscious.

There was no turning back now.