After that, Mrs Jennings insists on making small-talk for another 15 minutes before her husband walks in and reminds her that she still has the other people she invited to talk to, and I bid farewell.

I pass Ms McDonnell and Shirley in the corridor on the way back to the atrium and am met by the collective stares of the gathered crowd.

“Hey, what were you doing in there?” Asks the abnormally handsome guy I took note of earlier, not quite demanding or overly arrogant, but with a force of certainty that comes with supreme self-confidence.

I shrug, “Just chatting with Mrs Jennings.”

His charisma isn’t really impressive enough to sway my eternally curt speech. I’ve also talked more in the past half hour with Sharon than I have in the last 5 years. Or at least, it feels like I have: I’m exhausted.

Another member of the inquisition pipes up - a small middle-eastern woman with entirely too much jewellery I think I recognise as a Bollywood actress, “What did you talk about?”

“My old thesis. Stories from when she was developing games back in the ‘20s. You’ll all get your turn, apparently.”

“What’s she like?” This time Rhys chimes in with a question.

“You’ll find out when you meet her, I guess. Either way, I’m going back to my room for a bit. I’ve got to fill out some more paperwork in an hour or so.”

I don’t wait around for anyone to object, briskly walking on toward the staircase, ignoring the indignation I leave behind me. I’m just not in the mood to keep talking. I’ve got a lot of shit on my plate, and I need some time to myself to process it all.

It takes me a minute to figure out how I’m supposed to get back in my room before I think to ask Pill to let me in. The PI complies, and I enter, collapsing face-first into the unfamiliar smelling bed. The tension of the last hour drains out of me as I check the time on my wristwatch.

‘So….True Virtual Reality. Thousands of Turing grade AI living out lives in a simulated fantasy RPG.’

I roll over and stare at the white ceiling, running a hand through my hair. I can hardly believe it, but supposedly I’ll see the proof of it first-hand tomorrow after I’ve signed off on a whole stack of legal waivers, confidentiality agreements and whatever else the ‘lawyer army’ has cooked up. It’s not escaped my notice that for the duration of the test, the Jennings Investment Association will practically own my entire existence.

Also worth consideration, is that while Sharon assured me that the technology, whilst a prototype is basically fully functional and safe, there remains a risk to mind and body. Even if nothing goes wrong, living a whole life as someone else, even if I don’t roleplay as someone else, is going to have drastic and permanent effects on who I am and how I perceive reality.

When all is said and done, will this truly be reality to me anymore? I’m reminded of an old British tv show where a comatose police officer wakes up after months, having experienced a lucid dream the whole while, only to feel such a disconnect that he’d rather commit suicide to return to the dream than live his old life again. It’s something a lot of drug addicts experience as well, I think.

It’s a sobering thought. A bucket of cold water dunked over my earlier excitement.

The Jennings didn’t exactly talk about the risks involved. Not in the pitch Steve gave in the atrium, nor in the one-on-one with Sharon. But I don’t doubt for a second they’re not aware of it. They may have even had testers in the past that suffered these problems, and as candid as they are I also doubt that they’d be too eager to talk about it whether it happened or not.

This is their life’s work, their dream, their passion. They need this to work or else all the time, effort and money they’ve poured into it become a meaningless waste that some other schmuck will salvage for their own vision of VR.

In the end, what I’ve got to decide is whether I want to trust them and drink the delicious Kool-Aid they’re offering us.

I guess that I could probably discuss this with the others, maybe hear their perspectives on it all. But I can’t help but think back to Steve’s speech.

Given the chance, who would I become?

To be brutally honest, my life as it is isn’t really going anywhere. I’ve secreted myself away in an apartment in North Dakota, reading old fantasy novels and wasting time on a space exploration MMO. I don’t have many friends, and my parents died of old age last year. I don’t think I’ll be missed if the worst happens.

“In the end, who am I?” I ask aloud.

In high school, I was never bullied, despite looking like the quintessential nerd. It’s not that nobody tried, it’s that I met hostility head-on. When the stereotypical thug and his cronies from my grade tried to extort my lunch money out of me by cornering me in the men’s bathroom, the teachers had to pull me off them after I fought literally tooth and nail, biting a chunk of Andy Michaels’ ear off in the process.

After that, and a three-week suspension, I gained a reputation as someone to be avoided. People I thought were my friends were forced to abandon me by peer pressure, and making new ones was basically impossible.

To this day, I’m amazed that my college accepted me with an incident like that on my resume. Of course, I fucked that up anyway, but ever since that incident, I’ve felt like I was holding myself back. I wanted to fight like that again, but the world being what it is, I would never be able to satisfy my aggression without turning to a life of crime. I picked up boxing for a few months in college, but that just made it harder to keep my head above water with my studies so I ended up quitting.

“Laying it all out on the table, there’s really only one answer to all this,” I sigh, knowing that for better or worse, I’ve made my decision.

I sit up, lips peeled back in a toothy grin, “Let’s play!”

An hour and a half later, I’m sat with Ms McDonnell, Shirley and a lawyer in an office on the third floor of the main building, with a 5-inch stack of paperwork in tiny font, separated by coloured sticky notes. Though books have mostly gone out of style, paperwork has endured, to my eternal dismay.

“If you have any questions or concerns, don’t hesitate to ask,” the lawyer, a grey-haired old man in an incredibly expensive suit, tells us.

McDonnell groans, pinching the bridge of her nose, “The Lord save me from paperwork.”

I murmur an agreement, sucking in air and reaching for the first document.

As expected, the documents all boil down to the following points:

I understand that in participating in the test, I put myself at risk of physical and mental harm.

In the event of an accident during testing, I cannot prosecute the company or staff, but on-site treatment or counselling will be made available should I require it.

I cannot talk about anything I experienced here with anyone at any point until the game is released to the public, or I will face an extortive fine.

Records of my feedback, brain and body functionality - as well as my in-game experiences - will be retained for study indefinitely.

I cannot leave The Think Tank until the testing period is over unless specifically instructed by authorised personnel.

I must maintain civil conduct with staff. Any complaints should be given to management or the Jennings.

I must disclose full details when giving feedback.

And so on, and so on. All in all, the terms they’re laying down are fair, but the slog of reading through each and every clause, corollary and subsection is something I could do without.

When I’m done, a good three hours later, I throw my pen on the conference table and sink into my chair with a loud grunt, and I notice that a few more people have since joined me and Ms McDonnell in the room.

She gives me a tired smile before going back to her now greatly diminished pile. She had a headstart on me, but I guess a lifetime of reading literature has made me more efficient than she is. I give her a pitying look as I hand over the files to Shirley, who passes it along to the lawyer who I’m pretty certain has been playing solitaire on his laptop this whole time. I can just about see it in the reflection given by the glass wall behind him. Bastard.

After that, Shirley escorts me to an adjacent office where Steve, now dressed in a slightly more respectable t-shirt and jeans, is sat behind the simple wooden desk reading a tattered science fiction novel, “Oh, hello Shirley. Didn’t hear you come in. And a hello to you Mr Lancaster! You look like you’ve run a marathon.”

I grunt, taking the seat in front of the desk and sinking into the thick padding, “If I hold my arm out now I’d probably try to sign my signature on your face.”

“Sorry about that,” he laughs, “But I have to cover my ass, yeah? Pill, could you call Matthew Tildon to Shirley’s office?”

“Confirmed. Orders….given. Estimated time of arrival .”

“That will be all Shirley, Jake is next door, so you can take the next candidate to him,” He gestures to Shirley with his phone is a sort of shooing motion. She nods stiffly and leaves the room.

Steve relaxes into his chair as she leaves, “Great. I won’t take up much of your time, I just need to give you a couple things and tell you the schedule for today and tomorrow. I’d have someone else do this, but the storm has left us a little understaffed until the authorities deal with the flooding on the roads, yeah?”

Steve stares at me for a moment, “‘course that isn’t going to dissuade some people. But at my age, that’s just not good for my heart. I went hiking in the Himalayas last year, and let me tell you, my heart damn near exploded out my chest when one of the spikes came loose. I’m lucky to still be alive!”

I shrug, “When someone like you tracks someone like me down and invites them to a place like this, I’d be a fool to not do my utmost to attend. And if what you’re doing here is the real deal, a fool is the kindest thing I could call myself for missing out.”

Steve guffaws, “Hah! That’s the spirit! I’m looking forward to watching what adventures you get into if that’s your attitude!”

He drops his phone on the desk and leans back, picking something up from the floor.

“This,” he waggles a small, booklet, “Is a primer of the commonly known lore of Eden. Stuff you’d be expected to know no matter who you are or where you live. A lot of it should be familiar to you if you’ve played RPGs or read fantasy novels in the past. I highly recommend you spend the next few hours studying it.”

I take the book, actually a tablet made to look like a book, and pocket it.

“As for the schedule - you can ask Pill if you forget any of this, it knows all your appointment times - Lunch will be at 1, Dinner at 7, and you have to go speak to the Avatar team to get your character mo-”

Steve is interrupted by a knock at the door, though briefly annoyed, his breezy smile returns within seconds, “Come in.”

A short balding man of advanced years enters the small office, his shirt a little too tight around the gut, “You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Matthew, meet Cyril Lancaster. I’m almost done, so you get to talk to him about his character bio and walk him through the lore after.”

I proffer my hand to him and shake it, his skin feels like paper and the way it shifts over his bones makes me slightly queasy. It’s similar to shaking hands with a well-cooked rack of short ribs - the meat just flakes off the bone. For the sake of propriety, I try not to let my discomfort show.

“I’ll just wait here then,” he smiles.

Steve nods and continues, “You need to visit the Avatar team at 8 to get your in-game character model made. Then it’s back to your room for an early start tomorrow at 7. You’ll have a quick medical check-up, to make sure you’re still fit to test and so we have a baseline with which to monitor your condition during the session. Any questions?”

“None that I can think of. For now, anyway.”

“Awesome. Matthew, he’s all yours,” Steve claps his hands together and gives Matthew double finger guns.

Mama, I’ve found a man who is more of a worthless dork than I am. Are you proud of me now?

I follow Mr Tildon to the elevators, which we take below the ground floor in silence. I feel like I should make conversation with him, but his impatience in reaching our destination makes it difficult. Despite his short stature, bulging stomach and advanced age, he walks at a brisk pace that belies his physical condition.

He power-walks out the elevator and around a corner into a large room which closely resembles a library, with several people working at desks typing into computers in the middle of the room. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with books. A rolling staircase rests in the back, with even more books stacked on it like a makeshift shelf.

Not stopping, Mr Tildon walks down the middle of the rows of desks to a large crescent-shaped one at the end. I follow him behind, slower, marvelling at the number of books on display. My collection, in comparison to this, is like a puddle next to a lake. It’s not the largest collection I’ve ever seen, it’s not the Library of Congress, but it is the largest private collection I’ve seen in person. The smell of old paper is strong, and the humidity of the air in the room is notably different from out in the corridor.

After a minute spent reading out, I approach the large desk. Mr Tildon has made himself comfortable already and stares at me expectantly.

“You like books,” He says, not as a question but a statement of fact.

“Yup. I’ve got a pretty good collection, but this just makes it as though my efforts are somehow inadequate. If I wasn’t already going to be participating in the test, I’d have loved to spend a month or two in here just reading,” I tell him, honestly a little disappointed.

He cracks a small smile, “Glad to see that appreciation for the written word isn’t dead just yet. To be honest, about half of these were written in-house by myself and my team here over the past 30 odd years. They probably won’t see the light of day for another 30 or in my lifetime either, which I can’t help but find a shame. Of course, we have digital copies as well, but you could call this room my vanity. There’s just something gratifying about physically seeing how far we’ve come since Sharon hired us all those years ago. The rest is research material.”

I feel my jaw slacken, “There must be close to a thousand books in here!”

“1782 and counting, actually. Not all of it is substantial in content, but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at the shelves.”

He clears his throat, “But we’re not here so I can show off. We’re here to help you create your character’s backstory and integrate it into the simulation for tomorrow. Our ability to ‘edit’ the world is fairly limited, so you can’t make it too complicated or it’ll cause a massive chain reaction that will obliterate the...for lack of a better term, the ‘canon’ of Eden’s history and current events.”

I nod along, “Mr Jennings gave me a primer on the commonly known lore. I was expecting I’d be able to read it first, before I made a character, though I do have something in mind already.”

“The Lore Primer is more of a gimmick Stephen came up with to seem cool if you ask me. It’s just a collection of general revision notes you can refer back to later. I’ll tell you what I think you need to specifically know to play your character.”

Nodding again, I decide to kick off the lecture with a question, “So where do we start?”

Mr Tildon scratches his chin, contemplative, before taking a deep breath, “I suppose the best place to start is with The Origin. It’s a widespread belief that the world is presided over by godlike entities representing primal concepts like Life, Death, Force and so on. These entities were once part of The Origin, and have since split apart for reasons unknown. These entities, whilst powerful, were not possessed of Ego. They simply existed.

But they did not exist peacefully. By their natures, they conflicted and rejected anything, not of itself. From this conflict, shards of the ideas fell further into the abyss and formed stars. Some shards formed together to create intelligent Gods who were also by their natures compelled to conflict and reject those in opposing aspect. Through these conflicts, the destruction of many stars and the eventual sealing of The First Ideals in their own separate realms, Eden was formed, and life flourished, presided over by the surviving Gods, now greatly diminished in strength.

They turned to mortal worship in order to redefine their existences; So as society progressed and the minds of those mundane fools became more sophisticated and complex, the Gods, once pure, came to resemble the people below.”

I close my eyes and recite it back in my head, “So that’s the game’s creation myth, is it?”

“Indeed,” Tildon affirms.

“Is it true?” I ask, eyebrow raised.

“Gods do exist, and small ethereal crystals known as Yddr which inspire certain qualities in those who hold them, though extremely rare have been discovered once or twice in recorded history. As for whether or not it is true, you will have to form your own opinions. Just know that the major religions of Eden treat this as gospel,” He responds smugly, his face giving away nothing.

I file away the possibility of someone on high lying to their followers in the back of my mind for later consideration.

“So what about society and the dominant races? Who do we get to play?”

“Though admittedly lazy, the standard fantasy race tropes are present on Eden due to Stephen’s insistence, despite my own feelings on the matter. With respect to Tolkien, the tropes he created and codified are..overused. But Stephen is very much a traditionalist, and he’s the one who pays me an exorbitant amount of money to be his chimp on a typewriter, so I must swallow my pride.

There are Humans, not as numerous in population as some fiction, though little different from our own culture. They are split amongst 6 kingdoms in the northern continent of Arglon and are almost always at war with one another over something. Most commonly control of a large inland plain which sits in the centre of 4 of the 6 kingdoms.

Dwarves are everywhere. They pursue the perfection of the crafts and hoard knowledge almost religiously. It is a common saying that to pry a dwarf’s lips open one must use their own pickaxe. They have the most kingdoms of all the races, but several of them are nomadic - wandering the world in search of ancient knowledge and the finest materials above or below ground. They have a slightly longer lifespan than the average human, but they have a far tougher time living to that age due to their reckless pursuit of perfection.

Elves are, thank the powers that be, not confined to deep forest canopies. I was able to convince Stephen to give up on that old stereotype at least. The Elves are a mountain-dwelling species that form elaborate cities above the clouds. They have weak constitution due to spending most of their time in the thinner atmosphere away from most other life, but their agility in the mountain ranges is unparalleled. An elven ranger can scale a landslide in less than 30 seconds, with no equipment, where the same feat would take an experienced mountain climber from our world up to an hour of slow and careful progression. They have a reputation for being stubbornly reclusive, and new settlements are being discovered by other races even in modern times.

Basvöl, or Beastfolk, are divided into two types across a number of subspecies:

Follbas, also known as High Beasts or Full Beastfolk, are close to the animals they represent. Most are feral, but some form tribes, and of those, a few have advanced to a manner of civilisation reminiscent of aborigines. Though usually seen as primitive, they are powerful, highly observant and cunning. Tribal Follbas are not by any means stupid, but their feral cousins have given them a bad name, and years of persecution for the transgressions of the ferals have made them highly territorial and suspicious of outsiders.

Munbas, known more commonly as Earkin, is the derivative of Follbas. For one reason or another, they are descended from subjects of cross-breeding experiments between Follbas by an ambitious long-dead mage-queen, and another species. Most commonly humans, who they closely resemble. They have a fairly even standing with humans, but the survival rate of births to Munbas are atrocious, as even generations later, their bloodline is still unstable and leads to grotesque, crippling mutations in 2 out of every 5 babes. They generally adopt the culture of their parents.

Half-Elves are more or less the same as Munbas, but are held in higher regard due to how uncommon it is for humans to interact with an Elf, which most human commoners hold in awe.

Selms, are a race of lizardmen, who are just as comfortable in the water as out. Though many assume them to be a variant of Follbas, they insist that they were created by their patron deity, the God of Nature to serve as custodians of the natural order. Their culture is similar to that of Celtic druids. A peculiar quirk of their species is that the more adept at magic the individual, the larger their bodies, with the average Selm standing at barely 5 feet tall. Only one empire exists, but they have villages and towns wherever nature flourishes.

Gurn are, functionally, a mix between orcs and ogres, appearing like humans, but averaging 6 and a half feet tall, with grey skin and small horns on their shoulders they pierce and ornament with the emblem of their clans. They mostly congregate on the central continent of Lirt, but they maintain a port town on Arglon that is considered mostly neutral and the best place to hire mercenaries. As for their hat, they don’t take kindly to oathbreakers, taking contracts as almost sacred. If you enter into an agreement with a Gurn, you do so in the knowledge that they feel honour-bound to complete their end, and expect the same of you. Oathbreakers are hunted down by special assassins from the Gurn’s clan, and a rib is taken for each promise broken. These ribs are kept by the clan head on a huge tapestry which they hang in their conference halls as a warning to negotiation partners.”

Mr Tildon takes a deep breath, reaches for a bottle of water and drinks greedily. The races sound pretty standard, but I do actually admire his interpretation of Elves. It’s certainly a novel idea, that keeps the spirit of the classic interpretation. I can’t help but feel a deep desire to find my way up to one of their cities. The view from up there must be majestic.

“That all sounds pretty awesome, really. I assume each race has their own traits and abilities, like magical affinity and the like?” I ask after a moment’s consideration.

“Correct. Though to avoid excessive metagaming, the traits will only be revealed once you’re in the game, and the traits available depend on the individual character,” he explains.

“What about monsters? Dungeons and the like? I assume they exist.”

Mr Tildon takes another swig of water and puts the bottle back to one side, resting his chin on the knuckles of his left hand, “They do. Monsters are semi-magical in nature and show up in areas dense with ambient magic. If the density of that magic reaches a certain point, a ‘dungeon’, known locally as a Trial Ground is formed, it’s nature dependent on the area it forms in. A Trial Ground will gain more and more mana over time until eventually the structure bursts, blighting the surrounding area and releasing the hordes of monsters contained within. Specialist magic users are employed by the governments of the world to track down and contain these wild Trial Grounds and either force them into a more traditional dungeon or in extreme circumstances, purge them. The main difference between monsters and dangerous wildlife is that when slain, a monster’s mana and will crystallizes inside the corpse. If not properly dealt with the monster will revive later on, but if killed directly by one of the sentient races, the warrior in question will gain an extra burst of experience points. Mercenaries and Adventurers are frequently hired to deal with them, but some smaller countries prefer to have their armies do it. It’s wholly dependent on the area.”

“What’s the difference between a Mercenary and Adventurer? They’re practically the same thing, as far as I’m concerned,” I ask, interested. Adventurers in traditional literature tend to be work-for-hire. The way he said the two words implied they were something special.

He picks up a pen and paper, draws a line down the middle, labels each half as ‘Adventurer’ and ‘Mercenary’.

“Mercenaries are generally part of larger bands and associations, they are hired directly by the country to deal with problems that a small group of Adventurers can’t. Their quality tends to be rather poor, and their vast numbers mainly consist of those who couldn’t cut it as an Adventurer. Mercenaries also don’t really move around all that much, usually under long-term contracts. If something requires a more specialised touch, Adventurers are called in. Successful Adventurers are worth several dozen Mercenaries, but they don’t cope well with rigid structure and are prone to wandering from town to town in search of work or else risk starvation. Some Adventurers further specialise as Frontiersmen; Explorers and cartographers that search for new lands and potential settlement locations. As for the internal structure of the organisations behind Adventurers, that varies, though they have a universal competency ranking system.”

Finished, he hands the paper to me for a moment, then takes it back, “I’ll use this for the other testers as well. I’ll get a scan of it sent to your Lore Primer as well.”

“Thanks. So it’s like the difference between a sledgehammer and a scalpel, in effect. Alright,” I tap my cheek, turning slightly in place before looking back at him, “Last question, then. What’s the deal with magic? Is it common?”

“Fairly common, though most don’t have any real talent for it. Even those with potential, rarely see it fulfilled. Spells consume a portion of the caster’s internal mana reserve to form themselves, as well as ambient magical energies to maintain themselves. In an area blighted by a burst dungeon, for example, most forms of magic are impossible to use, due to the absence of magic in the zone. Some devotees of the gods also have access to a form of magic, that is subtly different from standard mana-casting, supposedly being miracles granted by the deity they worship.”

I smile, “Great. I think I’m ready to tell you who I am.”