5

Alex–or rather, Hunter, found himself in what looked like an old-timey bar, complete with a player piano, a cloud of smoke hanging in the air, and a prohibition era, solemn-looking bartender. Everything looked incredibly realistic, and still… just a tiny bit off. Like a left shoe on a right foot. The way his body felt and moved was off, the smells were off, the shapes and lines and textures of the objects were a little bit too clean and perfect to be real. Even the clothes he had on–the same sweatpants and t-shirt his mannequin avatar was wearing a few moments ago–felt weird. Clinical, somehow.

“Still feels a bit wonky, doesn’t it?” he heard a smooth, familiar voice ask. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it pretty quickly.”

Hunter turned his head towards the bar, startled. There was a man there, perched on a stool and holding a glass filled with a rich brown liquid in his hand. Iron-gray hair, well-trimmed beard, tailored suit, smug smile. He looked less rigid than when Alex had met him back in that visitors’ room, and a good deal friendlier.

“Mr. Grimm”, said Hunter. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you, Alex. Or is it Hunter now? I’m not the genuine article. I’m just a more-or-less faithful representation, programmed to welcome you to Elderpyre and get you on your way. Come, have a seat. May I offer you a drink before we get down to business? Anything you like. It’s on the house.”

“I guess I’ll have a pint.”

“A pint, he says!” scoffed faux-Grimm, apparently talking to the mustachioed bartender. “Can you believe this one, Mort? I offer him anything he likes, anything in the world, and he orders a pint!”

If the faux-Grimm’s goal was to make Hunter feel silly, he had achieved it–and then some.

“I thought taste was a matter of taste”, he tried to snark back, but Grimm ignored him.

“See, that’s what I like about you, Hunter. You’re a straight shooter. Salt of the earth. Mortimer, get the man his pint!”

Not sure what to make of that, Hunter took a seat next to the man. The bartender poured him a pint of lager, which he hesitantly went on to try. As it turned out, ordering something familiar was an excellent idea, faux-Grimm be damned. That way he had some well-established real-life experience to compare to the felling of drinking beer in VR. It wasn’t bad, either. Good old lager–nothing more, nothing less. Just as it should be.

“You said we have business.”

“Yeah, well, just some legalese gobbledygook to go over. I’ll just need a few minutes of your time, and then you’re free to ask me anything you like–though I can’t promise I’ll be able to give you all the answers you like. Does that sound good to you?”

“I guess.”

“So, Hunter”, faux-Grimm said. “You’ll be granted a free stay in our illustrious real-world establishment and full access to the virtual environment of the game, as well as a plethora of other perks. All that is required of you is to agree to the following: one, the software will be gathering data about your in-game behavior. That data will be anonymous, of course, and will be used as the developers see fit. Which mostly means it’s going to improve verisimilitude–how realistic and true-to-life something feels.”

“I know what verisimilitude means”, Hunter said coolly. “I might have dropped out of college, Mr. Grimm, but I’m not stupid.”

It was true. What Alex lacked in standard college education, he more than made up for with the tons of trivia, knowledge, and assorted skills that often come with practically living online.

“Of course, of course”, said Grimm. “Forgive me. As I was saying, improving verisimilitude is one of the main goals of this whole project. Do you explicitly allow Elderpyre to anonymously gather and utilize your behavioral data?”

“Yes,” Hunter agreed. He didn’t have to pore over the fine print–he already knew the whole thing would be all kinds of sketchy, just as he already knew he would agree to it anyway. In for a penny, in for a pound–another of his old man’s witticisms.

“…and two,” faux-Grimm went on, “there’s also a non-disclosure agreement you’ll have to abide by. This means that you may not share any specific details or information about Elderpyre, either publicly or privately. Share anything you’re not supposed to, and a horde of lawyers will come knocking at your door. How does that sound?”

“Not worth the trouble,” Hunter said.

“That’s the idea. What happens in the Happy Motel, stays in the Happy Motel–even after your stay with us is concluded. Do you agree?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Peaches and cream,” faux-Grimm said, satisfied. “Now that we got all that out of the way, let’s get down to brass tacks; the game itself.”

“Yeah, about that,” said Hunter. “I’ve never heard of any game called Elderpyre, which is kinda weird, to be honest. I usually have my ear on the ground for stuff like that. Is there a trailer or something I could watch, or a FAQ I could read, a tutorial, or anything of the sort?”

Faux-Grimm shook his head.

“I’m afraid jumping in at the deep end is part of the deal, Hunter. There’s literally nothing more valuable than the way players deal with unknown and unexpected circumstances, data-wise.”

Hunter didn’t like that one bit, and faux-Grimm saw it.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll do just fine. All you need to remember is that you interface with the game’s systems by willing things. Most of it will come natural to you, but there are quite a few surprises to find, too–so don’t be afraid to try different things and experiment.”

“Uh…like what?”

“I don’t want to spoil the joy of discovery for you”, Grimm offered with a smile and a wink. “You’ll see for yourself.”

Hunter frowned, but didn’t press the subject further. Another question crossed his mind, instead–a much more important one.

“So, what’s the goal of the game?”

Faux-Grimm’s smile became even wider.

“That’s the beauty of it. Your goal is whatever you make it to be. It’s kind of a big sandbox experience. There are quest lines and the like, of course, but nobody’s forcing you into anything you don’t want to do. It’s up to you to create meaning, in a way. Much like real life.”

“Much like real life. I… see.”

“You probably don’t, but that’s alright. It’s to be expected.” He finished his drink and cocked a thumb towards the bar’s exit. “But enough talk. See that door? Just walk through it. You’ll figure out all the rest yourself. I have faith in you. Oh–and another thing; this room is your personal Shard. Your home, if you will, or your mind palace. If you bump into any trouble, you can come back here anytime and ask Mortimer over there for help.”

Hunter made a mental note of all that, although nothing made much sense to him–not yet, anyway. Faux-Grimm wasn’t going to offer much more in the way of answers and information, that much he knew. As for Mortimer? The burly barman looked as stoic and silent as any standard vendor NPC in any run-of-the-mill MMO he–Alex–had ever played.

More than a little curious, Hunter got up and walked over to the exit.

Elderpyre wasn’t going to play itself.