My eyes widened. It was glorious. They didn’t need immersion gear. This was the real deal.
I stepped out of the gate and into an Eastern metropolis. Symbols were grafted onto the buildings, and the city was lit by hundreds of neon signs and pink street-lamps. People bustled all around me, pixelly pre-programmed people that had more of a social life than I did, obviously.
They also had jobs. I watched one fry a batch of fish on an exposed grill for a restaurant. The details. The coding. It was insane.
It was such a waste that they had turned this into a high school sporting event.
I spent the next fifteen minutes wandering around the game, getting ran over by very-material people and ogling at the exotic sights. I remembered way too late that this was a spectator sport, and walked into a building to escape the eyes of my tormentors. They weren’t privy to my personal awe of this place.
I ended up sitting on a couch, watching anime. There was literally a movie on. It wasn’t looped or anything, the whole film appeared to be playing out. I was actually getting really engrossed, when all of a sudden I wasn’t alone.
I met the rest of the squad that afternoon. Turns out a squad is only four people. I’d be getting nice and personal with these folks.
“Should I give a bio or something?” I said, after a few seconds of intense staring.
“Sure, meatsack.” The only other girl, and thus presumably “Tacks,” said. “Make it good.”
“Well, hello, I’m Nate. I’m seventeen. I’ve never played anything remotely physically, and I like videogames. I tried to get out of this mess, but obviously that didn’t work.” I did a little wave. “That’s me.”
“Wonderful.” The girl said in a killer monotone. “I’m Tacks, and I’m in charge here.”
“I’m DeadBeat.” A huge, hunking shadow said.
“And we’ve already met.” Argo held out her hand anyways. “So pleased to have you aboard.”
I didn’t shake it.
“We’ve got in-game practice in thirty, DeadBeat, get this loser his gear.” Tacks nodded towards the hall. “Make sure he doesn’t get lost.”
“I do have a tendency to forget room numbers.” I helpfully supplied. “I never remember if I read them backwards or forwards.”
Tacks looked at me, so full of hate, so full of disappointment. It made my day.
~<>~
Now, the gear was kind of exciting. It was a spandex body-suit, with some padding in uncomfortable places. There was a bright stripe looping over my shoulder and across my back and chest. There were matching stripes on the shins, and helmet. And I gotta admit, the helmet was lit. I put it on and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like I was straight out of a videogame. I took it back off, and tried to determine if this was going to be immersive. Was I going to look like an idiot as I was getting kicked around? I didn’t see any tech. Fingers crossed.
DeadBeat didn’t say much. In fact, the only time he opened his mouth on the way there was to lick his lips. I was okay with this. I wasn’t sure if I could keep my sarcasm in check at this point, and it’d hurt bad if he got mad enough to hit me.
I got into my own little changing cylinder, and tried on the suit. It was too small. It clamped tightly over my chest, hugging my limbs. I surveyed myself in the mirror. Was it apparent? No, I’d pass for human. Till somebody kicked me in face, or tried biting my hand. Savages.
I stepped out. “Hey, I got my Hunger Games garb on. When’s the parade?”
“You’re not at all funny.” DeadBeat said, with a deep sigh, as if he had been really hoping I would be.
“I am wildly amusing to myself.” I said, tugging at the armpits of my suit. “And that’s all that matters. Did they have to make these things to tight?”
“Yes.” He said. I noticed his was just as tight.
“What happens if I gain weight?” I glanced down at my stomach.
“Tacks will slice it off with a rusty dagger.”
I nodded once. “That’s good motivation.”
“She’s all about motivation.” He started back down the hall.
“Hey now, I’ve still got thirteen minutes till game time.” I said, prepared to balk.
“We’re going to see the arena.” He said. “You need to see the arena.”
I could see that being fairly important, so I complied. I still grumbled like heck, but that was just how I roll.
My eyes widened. It was glorious. They didn’t need immersion gear. This was the real deal.
I stepped out of the gate and into an Eastern metropolis. Symbols were grafted onto the buildings, and the city was lit by hundreds of neon signs and pink street-lamps. People bustled all around me, pixelly pre-programmed people that had more of a social life than I did, obviously.
They also had jobs. I watched one fry a batch of fish on an exposed grill for a restaurant. The details. The coding. It was insane.
It was such a waste that they had turned this into a high school sporting event.
I spent the next fifteen minutes wandering around the game, getting ran over by very-material people and ogling at the exotic sights. I remembered way too late that this was a spectator sport, and walked into a building to escape the eyes of my tormentors. They weren’t privy to my personal awe of this place.
I ended up sitting on a couch, watching anime. There was literally a movie on. It wasn’t looped or anything, the whole film appeared to be playing out. I was actually getting really engrossed, when all of a sudden I wasn’t alone.
-last edited on Mar 19, 2019 17:01:34 GMT by TheGreatCon
Post by TheGreatCon on Mar 19, 2019 17:00:56 GMT
“Well looky here.” A nasty voice said. I glanced over, remembering with distaste that there were other people in this thing. “It’s the mighty squad #81’s new guy.”
“I surrender.” I said immediately.
“There is a setting for that.” The girl said. Her gender was about all I could pick out, what with the helmet and the standard suit and all. Though it wasn’t quite standard anymore. She had pink graffiti scrawled across it. Her helmet had a pink Mohawk glued to the top.
Helmet. My helmet. I glanced at the remote stand I had placed it on, taking it off to better view the movie. I glanced back at her. “Well, just tell me how to navigate to the menu, and I’ll gladly concede. I don’t know what I’m doing anyways. I don’t even know the point of this game.”
“I could.” She unslung, you guessed it, an enormous mechanical bow, and twirled a lethal-looking arrow in her hands. “But I play this games for kicks and kills.” She whipped the arrow back.
I ducked behind the chair. “Please! I’ll…I’ll…I’ll do your homework or something!”
“Stop humiliating yourself.” She stepped to the side, trying to get a better angle.
“At my current skill level, is there any other option?” I asked. My fingers closed on my helmet. I snapped it on, just as she shot me in the leg.
I didn’t feel a thing. I screamed anyways.
The arrow kind of clanged off my right leg. I felt a sense of triumph. She didn’t seem to notice anything, and as my shirt stripe powered down, I realized I was out. She smirked. Digital fireworks went off somewhere. “Game Over” flashed in my helmet, which I now realized was my access to the menu. Apparently I was the last guy alive in squad #81. Ha, take that losers.
“Hope that hurt.” She said, and swung out of the room.
I stood up, and realized there was a give and take to a painless execution. My leg wasn’t responding. I shook it. Still good at the knee. The foot, though? Unresponsive. I tried to run internal diagnostics. The ping came back empty, stating my right foot to be “offline.” Like bricks it was. What did my stupid internal computer think my foot was? A Bluetooth speaker? Oh well.
I sat down and prepared to finish the movie.
Argo showed up at my elbow a good twenty minutes later. There was a boss battle on, and I ignored her for the most part.
“Well, that was a brilliant start.” She said. “First game. What’d you think of it?”
“Marvelous.” I said. “I played like a champ.”
“You’re a brickin’ disgrace to the sport.” She took off her helmet, and threw it at me. I ducked, thankfully. I’d had enough broken hardware for one day. “People are laughing! They are laughing at squad #81! We go out there, fight to the death, and you…what?”
“Quiet, it’s a good part.” I said, motioning to the screen. Actually, it wasn’t, but I wanted her to shut up.
She hit me this time. Right in the chest. I felt that. I winced. “Hey, cut it out.”
“We’ve never been laughed at.” She looked down at me as I sat there in a purple recliner. “You’re wrecking our reputation.”
I thought she was being a bit harsh. Turns out, though, she wasn’t. Cause next in the door was Tacks. And she chewed me out royally. And she kicked me around. And then she had DeadBeat kick me around.
They all tromped out together, me trailing behind, dragging a bum foot. Turns out the game officials were waiting on me to vacant the arena before starting the next round. Hilarious. They had to send in my squad to drag me out.
I neatly folded up my gear and stashed it in my compartment. I glanced over at DeadBeat. “How’d it go for you guys?”
“Bad.” He rumbled in a voice so low that I felt like I should stoop to hear better. “Team ain’t been the same since King left.”
“Who?”
“The guy whose shoes you’re miserably failing to fill.” And he walked out before I could get an actual answer. What a cad.
I've never tried to. I guess if I wrote really depressing stuff it might do the job.
You ever had one of those moments when you have a typo and you just sit there and stare at the screen and you don't know what to say because there is literally no excuse for it it's just there looking at you like, "Can't touch me fuzz"?
This is going to be epic. 
![[lenny]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/7elNEqtPK2hcSAiIMFNh.png)
How rude of me! 
Assam, bring the camels