“Lingaaaardium WeviOHsa!” Max shouted for the umpteenth time while waving his wand. The spellcasting was so finicky.

The block of wood rose, spinning, in the air. Magical sigils carved in its sides lit up in the moonlight shining in through a ten-foot-tall window shaped like the silhouette of a birdcage at the end of the corridor. The ornate ivy ornamentation painted in black threw spiral shadows on the hallway floor.

Finally.

It was launch day — launch night, now, as Max had played for nine hours straight — of the world’s first triple-A VRMMORPG: The Wonderful Wizarding World of The Hunger for Brains. It was a mashup of Harry Putter and a recently popular YA sci-fi post-apocalyptic dystopian zombie novel, The Hunger for Brains.

In the Hunger for Brains, the protagonist was a zombie struggling to communicate in sign language with the (non-zombie) boy she loved, all the while hunting animals for brains. In the mashed-up world of the game, these heartbreaking issues were trivially solved by a communication spell and widespread access to ethical, spell-grown brains.

The game itself wasn’t more expensive than any other major flagship game. The purchase that had forced Max to live frugally for months, saving up cash, was the VR system. A bulky headset that weighed surprisingly little, bulkier shoes that let one walk without moving — an incredible feat of technical wizardry — and slick white gloves that looked like they belonged in a mocap studio. He’d been subsisting on rice and beans for months for these babies.

And the game sucked. It was no wonder, he thought, that the game had no microtransactions. Everyone was going to uninstall. Still, he couldn’t uninstall yet. The VR manufacturer offered no refunds, and Max had cleared his whole weekend. Everyone was playing the world’s first VR disappointment. He might as well explore the game.

At least the graphics were stunning. The vistas of the real-life Scottish Highlands were breathtaking, let alone with the game’s color-enhancement and magical flora. And he could make some wands for Izzie.

Isabel — the only girl in their D&D group — was the world’s biggest Harry Putter fan. Enough so to overlook all of the critical flop’s flaws. Yet, for some reason, he was still online, and she wasn’t.

Did that say something about him or the game?

Kristoff, their DM, always laser-focused on the story, had written off The Wonderful Wizarding World of the Hunger for Brains after the initial wave of advance reviews had declared the game a bug-ridden, soulless grind. Of their D&D group, Eddie and Ji-won had followed their DM’s lead, leaving only Isabel and Max to delve into the worldwide sensation.

The magical cube floated up and down. He was getting the hang of the spell.

Levitation wasn’t the best spell, but it had its uses. Movement in a third dimension allowed clever players to bypass Hogmoles puzzles that were otherwise impossible for their level. If Max skirted around the similarly overleveled combat encounters, levitation might become the key to cementing his position as one of the top players in TWWWOTHFB.

There were countless places to visit, leaderboards to top, mystical items to hoard, numerous spells to learn and test … but Max couldn’t get excited about it. The “classes” in this game were the four Hogmoles houses, and they were assigned — not chosen — at character creation. So he approached RPGs analytically and liked min-maxing his builds — why did that make him a Slytherin?

Besides, min-maxing was pointless in this game. The classes didn’t affect access to spells or items; they only changed faction relationships and flavor text. Combat consisted of shooting attack spells and casting spell shields with spell diversity limited to spell strength and visual effects. The optimal strategy was to alternate between your best attack spell and your strongest shield spell as fast as you could speak. The most difficult part was enunciating clearly enough for the spell activation software to understand.

Min-maxing was why Max played games. Yes, he was Max the Min-Maxer, hilarious, as Eddie made sure to mention at least once each session. Complex games, simple mechanics with interlocking systems, interesting and impactful benefits and drawbacks — those were the games that Max loved. TWWWOTHFB was the opposite: a business-driven proof-of-hardware project where a bunch of suits had sat around a table and chosen two franchises for maximum mashed-up appeal.

The players hadn’t been caught completely off-guard. There had been signs: a director leaving due to “creative differences,” multiple release delays, the review embargo until a day before release. Despite all the signs, there had been sufficient hope to leave room for disappointment. Sufficient hope for Max to buy this VR system.

This cunningly constructed world was set a few years after the end of the Deathly Hallows. In his series-ending rampage, Voldemort had killed off two-thirds of the world’s population, except they hadn’t been killed: the victims had turned into family-friendly zombies that looked like soap-opera actors in lazy Halloween makeup. The zombies were much less scary than —

Down the hallway, a misshapen face peered around the corner.

“Fuck!” Max yelped. “Use a light spell!”

“Sorry,” came a timid voice, “I keep trying but my spells aren’t activating. I’m really sorry.”

The monster had a bulbous nose, and its right cheek was stretched, leaving little room for his right eye and pushing his mouth askew into a permanent grimace.

The zombies weren’t half as ghastly as some of the player avatars. The face-scanning function in the VR headset often stretched and distorted parts of the face. Hours after launch, the game company had brushed off the avalanche of complaints by calling the distorted avatars another type of zombie.

“You’re selling phoenix feathers?” it asked.

“Christ,” Max replied after calming down, “Have you seen your face? It’s the worst I’ve seen. You’re gonna give someone a heart attack, playing at night.”

The easily-browbeaten customer from the Black Lagoon stared at his feet.

“I know. I rescanned twelve times; my scanner’s glitched. And I don’t want to be another Harry.”

Many players had resorted to the default Harry or Hermyne avatars, which had turned popular areas, like Hogmoles, into one of those comedy movies in which every character was played by the same actor. To the left: Daniel Radcliffe with a buzz cut; to the right: Daniel Radcliffe in an undershirt and jeans; above you: Daniel Radcliffe in a rippling cape levitating while insulting your mother.

“Hopefully they’ll patch it soon,” Max said. For the sake of everybody else. “A galleon for three feathers.”

“If they can. I heard the issue is the hardware — hold on, a galleon? The gold ones?”

The beggar from the Black Lagoon looked up at Max, stricken. Max shuddered. How was this family-friendly? That face was rated R.

Max steeled himself with fiery courage, refusing to submit to the eldritch horror.

“You know anyone else selling phoenix feathers?” he shot back.

Less than twenty-fours after launch, nobody was strong enough to take on a phoenix yet, including Max. He’d been lucky and completed a quest for a witch who had a phoenix familiar, and he’d convinced her to reward him with phoenix feathers instead of the usual bag of potions.

The impoverished calamity hung its head and returned its paralyzing gaze to its feet.

“I can’t afford that,” it said in a small voice.

Christ, Frankenstein’s shopper has no spine. You’re supposed to negotiate!

“How much can you afford, kid?”

“I have, um, a galleon — a galleon and seven sickles, but I need six feathers to upgrade my wand, and, um, I still kind of need to pay Ollivander.”

“You financed your wand? How dumb are you?” The interest rates on wand financing were so predatory that the only way it could be a good deal would be if one planned to quit. Which probably described for the majority of the playerbase, but not this kid. Max sighed and handed over six glowing feathers. “Just give me a galleon.”

What was the point of gouging this kid? Max might play this game for a week, at most two. This kid, judging by the fact that he was still on nine hours after launch despite clearly not being a powergamer, would probably enjoy slinging reskinned spells from his phoenix-feather wand for months (if it didn’t get repossessed).

What Max wanted was magic, varied and surprising magic, swords, adventure, stories written with passion, and balanced classes. Beautiful, free fantasy remained out of the reach of computers. On pen and paper it would remain, for now.

“A tip for free, kid, Ollivander’s is a rip-off. Any reputable wandmaker can upgrade a second-level wand. And don’t finance! It’s a rip-off in real life; it’s a rip-off here, too.”

Ah, if his current D&D game could be ported to VR. Last week, his party had left off underground, in the tunnels beneath the city, infiltrating the Thieves Guild. Now that would be a world-stopping VR game. Tension, close-quarters fighting, hunting down secrets in the dark.

To keep their campaigns competitive and fun, Max usually negotiated with Kristoff a story-related character flaw or weakness to compensate for his game-breaking builds. A berserker with a peg leg, a mage with DM-controlled narcolepsy, a paladin with a crisis of faith. In the current campaign, Max played a thief afraid of the dark.

“Is there an event going on?”

As Max took the proffered gold coin, humanity’s greatest fear brushed past him, moving to the window. Not that there was much point since the glass was frosted. A cheap trick to skimp on rendering resources.

“That glass is frosted. They don’t bother rendering on the other . . . ”

Noticing what had drawn the swamp creature’s attention, Max’s brow furrowed. There was a growing light — a pair of lights approaching the glass, shrinking and brightening. Almost as if —

The proud powergamer and min-maxer shared his third death in TWWWOTHFB with two newbies, one whose face was designed by H.P. Lovecraft and another who deserved to have their magical truck-driving license confiscated.

You’ve died and turned into a ghost. Since you died in a safe zone, you will respawn shortly with all your items and gold. Did you know? You can buy timed-exclusive dark artifacts at Borgin and Brains!

“Holy moly,” the girl who had committed double homicide said. “I’m sorry about all this. Guess I haven’t quite gotten the hang of flying these things down, yet.”

Three translucent players floated in the ruined hallway. Though he’d been killed, Max couldn’t complain much. As far as deaths went, this one was pretty cool, and this was a safe zone, so he wouldn’t lose anything.

Although, he’d never heard of players dying in safe zones. Was this a bug? Had one of the game designers played too many survival games?

He’d been too stressed during his first two deaths to appreciate this feeling of floating. It seemed far superior to the sensation during levitation spells — what was the point of developing two different floating sensations for the VR equipment? Wasn’t that a flagrant waste of development resources?

Shards of glass littered the floor, and the remnants of a small postal-looking truck were embedded in a wall down the hallway. What impressed Max most was the hole where the frosted window had previously resided. In the moonlight, on the grass far below, he could see the shapes of players running to and fro, all the way to the Forbidden Forest.

If the game could render all that, why hadn’t they placed a clear glass window there? Authenticity? A mistake in design? No doubt designed by the same designer who’d allowed deaths in safe zones.

“Woah, is that a truck?” the sewer demon asked. “That’s awesome.”

Honestly, for the monster from the Age Before Man, ghost form was a significant improvement to his appearance. It was also cute that he expressed interest in the murderess’s truck. Maybe they could pair up. The two newbies would make for an adorable, terrifying party.

“There’s a quest in Hogsbeer. Sorry, again. Have fun. I’ve gotta go lift this PK penalty.” The murderess floated off down the hall, ruining Max’s matchmaking dreams.

You will respawn in 3 — 3 — 3 — 3 —

“Ah, fuck me,” Max muttered. This glitchy game!

When the respawn timer finished — when it was supposed to finish — the nose-less newbie rematerialized and plopped onto the floor, but Max remained an ethereal bystander.

“Hey, why are you still a ghost?” asked the Elder God of Saying the Obvious. “Are you glitching?”

Max tried to force cancel all spells, and for his efforts, he was rewarded with an infinite loop of error logs.

Recalibrating, recalibrating, recalibrating …

Recalibrating mid-game … that meant his body in the real world had been moved. Then the levitating —

Max was wrenched backward, and he felt a sharp pain in his mind as his headset was ripped off and Hogmoles was replaced with his bedroom.

The game had an unconscionable number of bugs. If he threw up on his headset, he swore he’d sue for damages. Needing to sit down, he headed for his bed. After a disorienting second, he realized that while his legs were moving, the bed wasn’t getting any closer. In fact, his legs felt no resistance at all, as if his feet weren’t touching the floor. Copying his recent impecunious client, Max looked down at his feet.

He was floating. Genuinely levitating in the real world. If he weren’t occupied with desperately keeping down what little remained of his lunch from nine hours earlier, he would’ve been amazed. There had been no mention of such immersive gameplay in the early-access reviews.

Assuming they fix the nausea, if this is a surprise feature, it’ll be a huge hit.

A moment later, when his bedroom disappeared, he began to wonder if there were such a thing as gameplay that was too immersive.

* * *

The flickering greens and blues of the scenery rushing by too fast for Max to discern slowed. Simultaneously, the scenery steadied into what looked like a dimly lit concrete tunnel, and the yanking force deposited Max on the ground and then suddenly vanished, giving him whiplash for hopefully the final time. It was a miracle he hadn’t broken his neck. He stumbled, arms flailing, as he managed to regain his balance. Bending over, hands on his knees, he vomited on the rough, wet stone floor.

Wiping his mouth, he straightened and found himself in a dimly lit corridor with rough, rounded walls facing three not-very-friendly-looking people pointing knives at him. A fourth wearing red robes stood a few steps behind them. Given their patched clothes, unkempt hair, mean expressions, and less-than-welcoming postures, they didn’t come across as friendly. Max threw his hands in the air.

“Um, hello, I’m — ”

The center knife-wielder rushed forward. A second later, Max found himself flat on the ground, face-down, hands held tightly behind his back, several parts of his body sending stinging signals that bruises were forming.

The unfriendly people argued about something, their words loud and fast.

While Max had been on the nausea-inducing roller-coaster ride, he’d come to the conclusion that one of two possible scenarios was occurring. Either he was still wearing his VR gadgets and he was experiencing an extraordinary glitch, or the trauma of his headset being physically removed during play had done something to his brain, and he was currently comatose and hallucinating. There was also the small possibility that Eddie had finally convinced him to try out shrooms, but from what little he knew, hallucinating a scene like this would take something more like LSD.

Sharp, twisting pains dug into his shoulders, his nose curled at the pungent odor of the sewage which he was currently nose-deep in, and a cold chill spread against his skin from his now wet Lord of the Rings t-shirt and jeans. The first option was out — these clear sensations weren’t within the realm of VR immersion yet, bugged or not. He also felt too lucid for a hallucination or a dream. What kind of dream had this much pain?

He briefly entertained a ridiculous thought: what if that vomit-inducing roller coaster had been real? An inexplicable phenomenon. It had certainly felt real. That would mean could have traveled to another world! That would make him a fantasy hero for whom anything was possible: magic, adventure, a har —

His cheeks warmed in embarrassment; he needed to get out more. He was being mugged, and his first thought was to fantasize about LARPing.

As he wrangled himself down from the situationally inappropriate high, Max realized that he didn’t understand a single word the muggers were saying. Shit. If they didn’t know English, he wouldn’t be able to talk his way out. It had been years since Max had carried cash. Maybe they’d be satisfied with his VR equipment? He felt guilty about not feeling guilty about giving up the tech he’d wasted so much money on. It wasn’t as though there were any other games he was planning to play on it. The whole ordeal was frustrating to think about; to be honest, the thought that his VR set would be stolen from him was pleasing, to a degree that if others knew they would have thought he’d insured the overpriced thing. Tilting his head up, he tried to put voices to faces without drawing additional attention.

The robed mugger in the back was shaking his head and crossing his wrists. Out of Max’s field of view, the one that was pinning him laughed and removed one hand restraining Max to make gestures. The one in the back said something sharply and pulled a finger across his throat.

That, Max understood.