“I would be happy to walk you through our process,” Michele tells Ryan. “But first tell me, how much do you already know about Uranus?”
Sitting on his desk with his legs wide open, President starts eating chicken drumsticks that appeared out of nowhere on his desk. One of the girls holds a napkin for him and the other a glass of Coke.
Trying not to look at President’s crotch, Ryan replies, “Uranus? Not much. Only as far as the rumors go. That… ah… that it will be a huge advancement in virtual reality games, apparently by directly transmitting the rendered video game into the brain, entirely skipping the eye as the interface. Doesn’t it?”
“Well, the rumors are only half true. Uranus is not just an advancement. It is a technological revolution. Not only is the rendered video game directly transmitted to the visual and audio receptors in the brain, but also using an induced coma the neurons are tricked not to be able to distinguish between the signals that are received from the real world and the signals coming from the game.”
Mouth agape, the expression on Ryan’s face grows more and more amazed.
“We call it the Alternative Reality,” President says through a mouth full of chicken.
“Alternative Reality!… Meaning?”
“Meaning that once you step into the game,” Michele continues, “there is no way for you to tell whether you are in the game or in the real world.”
“That sounds freaking awesome! It will be like… ah… like a dream then?”
Michele and President share a glance.
“More than a dream actually,” she continues, “as in you could wake up from a dream if someone wakes you.”
For a moment, Ryan appears to have forgotten how to breathe. He can no longer hear his heart beating. He can feel the moisture in his mouth rapidly vaporizing away. His throat craving for water, Ryan gulps and with that the time resumes. His enthusiasm for Uranus is now, however, replaced with an unfamiliar fear in a matter of seconds. “And you cannot wake up from Uranus?!” he asks, his voice tight.
“Well, here is where it gets tricky. Since the gamer is in an induced coma, any external attempt to wake her could transition her into a persistent vegetative state.”
“For how long?”
“Forever. That would be a permanent coma.”
Ryan, face white with fear, swallows hard against the lump in his throat. Feeling weak in his knees, he sits on the chair behind him. He realizes that he is sitting on the handheld game console. Holding it before him, he stares at its screen, imagining Lynda trapped in it. She screams for help, but her begging voice stops at the game’s screen. She hopelessly tries to break the screen with her little fists.
“But that’s only if someone tries to wake the gamer,” Michele continues, bringing Ryan to attention. “If the gamer exits the game voluntarily, the induced coma will wear off naturally and the gamer will be back to real reality.”
“Then why doesn’t Lynda exit Uranus?” Ryan asks, the eyes still on the handheld game console.
“It’s not as easy as one might think. Why don’t you exit Earth?”
“What?!” Ryan turns to Michele. “What are you talking about? I’m not in a damn game.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure, I’m sure. I’ve been playing video games all my life. I know what’s reality and this is it,” Ryan says, holding up his empty hand. “Yes. I’m sure.”
“So is Lynda.”
Letting out a long breath of despair, Ryan sinks back in his chair.
Michele continues, “The gamer would know she’s in the game, as all the other testers did, if she remembers the inception, the moment she has entered the game. Our conjecture is that, somehow, Lynda doesn’t.”
Leaning back his head on the top rail, he stares at the ceiling, which is decorated with lights, security cameras, as well as black intercom speakers. A hopeless silence reigns the room for a while. The intercom speakers!
Ryan springs off the chair, excited about an idea that just occurred to him.
“Can’t we just remind her? There must be an interface designed for communicating with the gamers. All other games have it.”
“All other games are not uncanny replicas of reality,” she says, pride waving in her voice. “Uranus is designed to be an Alternative Reality. If such an interface doesn’t exist in real life, it cannot exist in Uranus’s design either.”
“OK, then. Change the freaking design,” Ryan says, frustrated. “Update the system. This is somebody’s life we’re talking about.”
“We are aware of the acute situation, Mr. Public. Especially that the person of interest is the daughter of Senator Honestman, one of the most powerful men in Congress and a close friend to our President.”
“Good. Do it then.”
Staring at the floor, Michele does not say anything for a few moments. “Let me ask you a question, Mr. Public,” she says, looking up. “How many times have you been affected by a hack while playing a game?”
“Countless times. The more popular the game, the more active the hackers are.”
“Did it affect your suspension of disbelief?”
“Hell, yeah. It was all messed up. Excuse me, but how is this related to—”
“We cannot afford such experience in Uranus,” she says, her voice rising, “which is designed to be a flawless replica of reality. Uranus shall not be hacked, ever.” Michele finishes, her clenched fists pointing at Ryan.
Ryan gulps, scooting back into his chair. “Yeah. Down with the hackers. So…”
“So we have disabled the updates. If a system cannot be updated—”
“It cannot be hacked either,” Ryan and Michele say in unison.
“How did…ah… Can you even do that?” Ryan asks.
“That is actually one of the patented innovations in Uranus,” Michele responds proudly. “Every step of Uranus is instrumented with a hard-coded nuance of the entire game. Any change in Uranus, even if it is as small as a bit flip, will be detected, putting the entire system at a halt.”
Ryan’s amazement of the level of sophistication in Uranus gradually turns into agitation when he realizes there is no door left open. “For God’s sake,” he says, standing up, “Then how could we possibly remind a live gamer that the game is not real, without any pre-existing communication channel?”
“Well, that’s where you come in, soldier,” Senator says from behind.
“I’m a gamer, not a coder.” Ryan turns to Senator.
“Indeed,” Michele says. “You are a gamer. And a gamer can speak with another gamer, as we do now in real life. That would not need a reprogram of Uranus.”
“That does make sense. The universe of the game is shared. Then why haven’t you done that already?”
“Mr. Public. What would you say if I tell you you are in the game now? What would you say if I tell you none of this is real?”
Ryan pinches himself until it hurts. “I’d say piss off.”
“So would Lynda.”
Ryan is frozen for a few moments, trying to imagine himself in Lynda’s position.
“Such an unbelievable message has to be delivered by someone you trust,” Michele continues, “someone with a preexisting emotional connection at the subconscious—”
“Why don’t you send in Mr… Senator then?” Ryan interjects over his shoulder, his thumb pointing to Senator.
“Mr. Public. This mission is not free of danger. The game is still in its prototype phase and we are not fully aware of how a person’s perception of reality changes once they step into the game. Lynda’s mother has actually volunteered from the very beginning to carry out this mission, but this is a risk that we cannot take with amateur gamers. It has to be a pro, and it has to be the best.”
“I’m not the best. I just lost to—”
“You are indeed one of the best. There is no place for false humility here. And I understand that you are romantically involved with Lynda?”
“I was,” Ryan responds, looking at the handheld console in his hand, “until she—”
“That makes you a perfect candidate for this mission. You’re like a well-trained soldier whose heart beats for his country, as Senator Honestman would put it.”
“That’s right, soldier,” Senator says from behind.
A mission to serve my country, Ryan thinks, and to save my Lynda. I’ll be the national hero who wins Lynda’s heart back. “All right. I’m game. When do we start?”
“How about now?” Michele asks. “Alexi, Bring me case 911.”
“Should I first give my Grandma a call?”
“You should,” President says, “if you’re not an adult.”
“I am. I’m not a kid anymore.”
The sound of gears grinding fills up the space. Some thick, metal walls rise from around the floor, surrounding Ryan, along with Michele and Senator. Feeling trapped, Ryan watches President gradually disappear behind the rising walls. Indifferent to the shape-shifting of his office, while watching the two half-naked girls making out, he takes another bite of the oil-dripping drumstick.
The natural light dimming out, the artificial blue lights that cover the inner surface of the walls dominate the space around Ryan. The rising walls bend eventually, creating a dome that isolates the three from the outside world, with no apparent exit.
A trap door slides opens and a white recliner rises through it. With all the health monitors attached to its bottom side, the IV bag hanging above it, and all the weird devices around it that Ryan does not recognize, it less resembles a recliner than an ICU bed or an operating table.
Lynda is lying on it, unconscious. She looks quite disturbed with wisps of gray hair on her temples poking out from under her black helmet.
“Oh, my God! What happened to her?” Ryan says, running toward her.
“Alexi, bring a new lab,” Michele calls, indifferent to Ryan’s emotional burst. “Life in Uranus is not easy on Lynda,” she continues, “which doesn’t help her age well.” Touching Ryan on the shoulder, she looks him in the eye. “We need to hurry up, Ryan. I don’t know how longer she can hold on,” she whispers and turns away.
Another white recliner rises from the floor, next to Lynda’s lab. A lab?! Ryan wonders. As in laboratory?!
“Why is it called a lab?” he asks with a bewildered face, turning to Michele. “Do you run experim—”
Michele buttons a white coat that she has just put on. The stains of blood scattered all over sends a shiver down Ryan’s spine. Resembling a butcher, only a cleaver is missing from her hand to complete the picture.
Ryan wants to say something only to find his throat dry as dust. He swallows hard against the lump in his throat. It helps but only a little. His lips are parting to express the terrifying doubt that is growing in his heart when something is slapped on his head.
“And there’s your game helmet,” Michele says, indifferent, or at least oblivious, to the terror that has twisted Ryan’s face.
While looking up, Ryan cautiously touches his new head. The flying robot that has put the helmet on him hovers above.
His head feels heavy but not because of the helmet’s weight. It is as if an ocean of energy is raining on his brain. He is no longer even sure if his head is still there. Although his fingers touch the slippery surface of the helmet, it is like the helmet has devoured his head, taking possession of his thoughts.
Michele shows the white recliner, waiting for Ryan to lie on it.
Ryan knows that he wanted to say something but somehow does not remember exactly what. He tries hard to find his chain of thoughts that is being buried among the constant waves of information poured on it.
A few moments pass. Michele’s insisting hand is still gesturing to the recliner. Ryan finds his feet obliging, stepping forward. He attempts to resist at first but eventually gives in. Before he knows, he realizes that he is lying on the recliner. OK, then, he thinks. I guess we are doing this.
“Alrighty,” Michele says, “Alexi, start the—”
“Wait,” Ryan shouts, jumping up. “Don’t you give me a character description? What is she in this game? What will I be?”
“Her name is Lynda,” she says as a hologram of Lynda appears in the middle of the room. Lynda, sitting on her bed in her underthings, is sewing a light blue dress.
Look how lovely she looks, Ryan thinks to himself. His courage plucked up, he imagines himself sitting next to her, filling the empty place on her bed.
“You’ll get your character description in the first few minutes that the game is loading into your brain,” Michele continues. “Now, just take a deep breath, relax, lie back, and close your eyes.”
“Lynda is her name! What will be mine?” Ryan asks, lying back on the recliner.
“You will be Ms. Gonzales. Again, you’ll get all that during the initialization phase. Ready?”
Ryan falls into a coma before he says yes.