There was a period of time, back in 1990’s to 2000’s, where rumors were heard about people suddenly catching on fire. Spontaneous combustion is the technical term that was given. People catching on fire for no apparent reason, whether in crowds, at home, shopping with friends, or even at work behind a desk. Nothing but ash and a small amount of bone was all that remained.

The scariest part of the rumor? Just how quickly it happened. Like the fabled phoenix of myth and legend, the combustion occurred and ended in less than a few seconds.

Rumor and superstition have a tendency to stubbornly cling to society, told as ghost stories or to set children straight through fear. I remember my mother and father doing the same for me when I was a tiny cherub on their knee. But those rumors and superstitions occurred hundreds of years ago now and had no noticeable link between the victims when those incidents happened.

Or so I thought.

“... ir? Sir? Mr. Randal, I know this news comes as a shock, but are you alright?” My doctor asks with only the slightest sympathy, acting more clinical and robotic rather than warm and caring.

“Terminal cancer, huh?” I questioningly state, knowing I’m slipping into shock. “My time remaining?”

“If we had caught it sooner, you would have treatment options. Given how far along it is, you have three to six months depending on how aggressive it becomes and your general health. More stress and unhealthy living shortens the time frame. I’m truly sorry.” The doctor was more robot than human at this point, dead looking eyes unblinkingly staring at me while he issues my death sentence.

I nod slowly, letting my mind recede while going on autopilot for the rest. Signing papers, nodding in response to questions, normal morning hospital check-up routine - except they somehow missed the cancerous growth that is now my harbinger of doom.

My name is Gram D. Randal. My wife, Claire, and unborn child were brutally taken from me in a drunk driving accident two months ago. The same old “the driver was drunk, again, and driving out of control.” Apparently this will be his ninth DUI, not including the two counts of vehicular manslaughter. So much for the justice system meting justice.

Add to that my debilitating injuries incurred during military service and being diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, my outlook on life is now very bleak.

So, color me surprised when I see in front of me a semi-transparent blue screen that read:

“Congratulations! You are one of a few hundred to be selected to participate in the Fantasy Haven Migration Event! Participation is mandatory and you will be transported in 23 hours 59 minutes.”

And counting, it would appear.

I can honestly say I think I’ve gone mad. I glance around the hospital lobby, where I was just told I would have less than six months to live and to “enjoy what time you have left with your family.” Talk about twisting the knife, there is no one left to spend my remaining time with.

My mother was taken from us by some weird, rare disease of the brain called Prion, which even the CDC knows little about. My father followed shortly after, dying from a broken heart. My wife’s parents died in a car accident when she was younger, before I met her. Both our grandparents had passed when we were mere babes. No siblings, cousins, or aunts and uncles. Claire and I were hoping to have a large family to fill the void we grew up in...

No one is paying me the slightest bit of attention, so I’m thinking they do not see the screen floating in front of me. I chuckle bitterly as I leave the lobby to return to my empty home, in more than a little bit of shock with all that’s been dealt to me.

“Fantasy Haven…” Sounds like that massive online game that hit the market a decade ago. The online gaming community had a massive surge when full immersion technology exploded on the scene fifteen years ago. Over half the world population, of all ages, jumped on the bandwagon as it rolled into market. A shame I was never in any position to join as well.

I call it full immersion, but there is a more technical term for it that I never cared to learn. I was too busy hunting insurgents and terrorists since I was eighteen, having been drafted at sixteen due to the near non-existent applicants of military personnel - largely due to the ability to make fortunes on the virtual games that sprang up with the newer gaming technological platform.

Starting the routine trip back home, I let my mind wander back. Since my honorable discharge from service, I went for regular medical check ups due to the injuries I accrued defending our country in the military. Started as an Army grunt and managed to work my way into Spec. Ops. with my uncanny ability at exfiltration and infiltration skills. I was always good at hide-and-seek and sneaking around the nosey neighbors growing up. I’m guessing it transferred to my adult life. Add in the over the top training and I became a lean, mean, black ops machine. The pay was good, though I still have problems sleeping at night. Kind of a moot point now, what with my six months or so left to live.

Claire and I grew up in a comfortable middle class family. Neither of us went without food or clothing and always had a roof over our heads. Claire had it rougher when her parents passed in her early teens, becoming a ward of the state. She pulled herself together well enough to obtain scholarships for the stricter higher learning institutes, which is where we met almost two years before I was drafted.

Whirlwind romances are aptly named and many told us we were too young to marry, ignoring that I was going to be deployed shortly after basic training. But we both stubbornly fought and obtained our marriage. We meshed so well upon meeting each other that neither of us could imagine being without the other as we grew up. Waiting until we were both sixteen helped tremendously and it also affirmed our decision to become man and wife.

One of the nicer things about higher education institutes is that you learned at your own pace. Both of us were nearly completing our masters degrees by the time I was drafted and given notice that I had three months to ready for my recruitment. Claire mastered psychology while I started in forensics and finished with mechanical engineering.

Who knew that the knowledge of both fields would be so beneficial in my military career? I certainly had no plans to enlist, but the theoretical and practical information and skills were very useful during my time defending our wondrous country.

During my down time, we spent every moment we could together. We would stay up late under the stars making our long term plans for a large family and living quietly away from the massive multi-layered cities. Away from the world that took so much from us. Away from the crazy that the world had steadily became.

I’ve put the car away, sent out emails, called my lawyer to settle my living will, and all the while I can see a timer in the top right corner of my vision. Am I hallucinating? Did I break and not realize it?

I manage to cram a meagre bit of food into me and grab the remaining bottle of scotch in the pantry that my grandparents saved. I take my time admiring the massive desk my great-grandfather had personally made when he was running his own business. Real polished wood with marble inlays, an incredibly rare thing in this age where trees have more rights than most human beings. No more wood-anything is made anymore due to the regulations put into place, “for the safety of the trees”.

Running my hands over the smooth desktop, I start preparing my thoughts. I set the bottle aside for the moment, I need to be coherent enough to record these last thoughts and then I can let it all go behind the haze of intoxication.

Several hours later, I put away the stationary and close the folder. I’ve penned a short blurb of what happened in the past year and ended it with the Screen and little timer I see in the corner of my eye. I made to sure to write out what I sent my lawyer for the living will and made sure that my meagre possessions will be donated to the necessary locations. Will they think I’m crazy? Not that it matters, there is no one left to care if they thought so.

Resigned, I tip the bottle of scotch back and let my mind wander some more while the alcohol takes effect. 17 hours and 37 minutes remain. Too early to drink? Nah, it’s five o’clock somewhere.

I was taught to be a decent person while growing up. Respect your elders, don’t lie, all the normal things that decent parents teach their children. Yes, normal. After you grow up and experience life, you realize just how good you have it compared to some others. Starvation, negligence, abuse, and that’s not including the more horrific side.

I do have a fixation for shiny things, ever since I was a kid. That never went away. More ideals and concepts grew in me as I aged, most of them good. The latest one I acquired was one of the easiest to accept, summed up as - fiercely protect what is yours and destroy the opposition. With that one, I feel like I’m floating in the ocean without oars or sail. I no longer have anything to protect, let alone to protect it fiercely. Destroying obstacles though...

I don’t recall falling asleep, but I do recall the dreams of my wife and child as I awoke with tears streaming down my face. “I truly understand you now, dad...” I mutter to myself as I get up from the couch, my heart aching, and head to the shower.

Daylight is barely peeking above the horizon when I finish. Not much sleep for me, again. The timer is still present in the corner of my eye. If the translucent screen was not a figment of my imagination, then in the next seven hours and change I’ll be ‘migrated’ to this haven place. I grin slightly and shake my head, thinking it won’t matter since I still have cancer. All that relocating me to a new place will do is allow me to sightsee a bit before keeling over. At this point, I have nothing better to do, so I’ll go along with this fantastical LSD trip.

I spend the remaining time to gather a few things I think I may need and tidy up the already clean house. I grab my service issue 9mm sidearm, a few spare ammo clips, hunting knife, wind-up pocket watch, backpack of essentials and spare clothing, and a little bit of pocket money. Not sure if the money will be any good, but it can be burned if nothing else. Anything else I may need will have to be obtained as I go. Only so much planning can be done for an event you have no knowledge of.

Finished with my meagre packing, I sit on the couch and attempt to finish the bottle of scotch. While alcoholism runs in my blood, I’m a light-weight. A little over half of the bottle remains and it had been opened before I consumed what I did last night.

I take the time to browse the interweb, looking into this Fantasy Haven and wonder if the notice and the game are related in some way. Typical MMORPG or massively multiplayer online role-playing game styles. Nothing amazing with the battle engine - real time action and strategy based fighting, seeing as they’ve made the turn-based systems relics and a rare thing to find in this age. Dozens of races to choose from, factions, different worlds and hundreds of cities to start playing in. Massive raid functions, Kingdom versus Kingdom battles, the works.

Honestly, other than the full immersion, there is nothing at all appealing with this fantasy game for me. Having experienced the horrors of real life war, the games I used to play have lost all appeal, even as a means of escapism. To imagine living in a fantasy world where might makes right, magic is the rule of the day, and being king of the castle is what makes the players rabid with fervor… Meh, I’d rather go hunt or fish in the real world. At least then I won’t have to worry about everyone trying to kill me for the clothes I wear or for some item in my pack.

That’s not to say I wasn’t a gamer when younger. I played and competed with the best of them, playing hard enough to at least make the top 10 of the scoreboards in either single or multiplayer. Being gifted in the intelligence department had its perks. Game on, my brethren. Game on.

00:07:12 left on the timer.

I spend the remaining minutes making peace with God and Jesus, thinking that even if this a hoax I’m still looking forward to seeing my wife and whatever my little unborn jellybean would have been. I wonder at times if the shock is so great that I can’t be angry yet or if the fight was sucked right out of me with their passing. Having experienced war and the effects it can have on the people, I just can’t seem to work up the effort to hate the slimeball that took my family from me. What’s the point? Sure, I could call in some favors to have the waste of space taken care of or even set it up to do it myself. But there would be no satisfaction. My wife and unborn child are gone. Even killing millions will not bring them back.

00:00:17 remaining.

I set the bottle on the table, close it up, grab my things and stand.

Timer hits zero. I then count to five after. “Oh well, guess it was…” I don’t get to finish, as I’m suddenly spouting flames all over my body. To anyone else in the room, spontaneous combustion would be an apt description. In just a few seconds, Gram’s body became so much ash while leaving behind his personal effects.