SIX: GAME

“And here we go. Last pass,” said Finn and he drew the razor across the centerline of Lars’ back. He finished the stroke and flicked the disposable towards the trash can. It hit the wall about three feet away. “I was never very good at sports. Well, Lars, are you into religion? Because you can consider yourself a shaved man.”

“Thanks, kid.” Lars snorted and drew a singlet strap over his shoulder. “Hey, do you care if I ask you a question?”

Finn shrugged. “Sure, boss. Shoot.”

Lars bit his lip. “I’m not trying to be nosy or nothing, but I heard you playing that game thing last night. Sounded like you were having a lot of fun.”

“I was.” Finn beamed. “I know you’re an ogre so you might not know much grammar the English language and whatnot, but you didn’t ask a question.”

“Nobody likes a smartass, but I guess you’re right.” Lars frowned. “That game, though? What was it?”

"That was two questions, but I'll give you one for free." Finn grinned, a twisted sneer that spread from bony cheek to bony cheek. He slapped Lars on the knee. “You watched me play! Didn’t you, you old dog?”

“Well, yeah. You were making one hell of a racket. I was worried the neighbors might call the cops or something.”

“Sure you were.” Finn winked, then licked his lips. “Tell me, ogre. You like what you saw?”

Lars ran a hand through his beard. “I dunno. Maybe. Just tell me what the name of the damn game, okay?”

“Fine.” He took an unnecessarily long pause. “It’s called Dungeon.”

“Dungeon?”

“Yeah, Dungeon.”

“That’s… kind of a lame name, don’t you think? You nerds couldn't come up with anything better?”

“Don't say nerds." Finn shook his head. "And not really. I mean, that’s just the name of the game platform.”

Lars grimaced. “Game platform?”

The kid sighed. “Kind of like the game engine—the code behind the game—but it’s more than that, too. It’s also a game creation system.”

Lars frowned. “So you can’t buy it at a store?”

“Of course you can buy it at a store!” Finn huffed. “Let me try to explain.” He paused. “Okay, so you buy Dungeon—at a store, then you have both the game and all the tools you need to make your own levels in the game—to tell your own stories. We Dungeoneers”—he pointed a finger towards his thin chest—“call them campaigns. Or instances. They’re kind of like… making your own downloadable content. You know what downloadable content is right? DLC?”

“Oh, yeah. DLC. Totally,” Lars lied. “I download content all the time.”

Finn gave him a sideways glance. “So Dungeon is just the game platform, and anybody that has it can create their own stories—”

“Campaigns.”

“Right. And share them with everyone. Since they’re created by the community, most campaigns are free. But heck, it takes a lot of time and effort to build a campaign, so the platform lets people make money selling skins and special weapons and boosts and whatever else they can come up with. People will buy anything these days.”

“So...” Lars thought for a moment. “It’s like Roblox.”

“Roblox!” Finn gaped. “Roblox is a sin against humanity. How in the world do you know about Roblox?”

Lars smiled. “I have a couple of nephews that play it. I told you I wasn’t completely out of touch.”

“I hate to break it to you, but Roblox came out in 2006. You're still out of touch. And Roblox? Really? Don’t you care about your nephews, Lars? That’s messed up.”

He shrugged. “I kind of enjoy watching them play it. It’s simple and looks fun, like Dungeon.”

“Dungeon is anything but simple and fun, and it certainly isn’t anything like fudging Roblox.” Finn snorted, and turn the wheels on his chair so that he was facing away. “It’s more sophisticated. The campaigns in Dungeon… they’re a work of art—of passion.” He licked his lips. “Sometimes, the game can seem so real you get lost inside.”

Lars gave Finn a gentle tap on the shoulder. “Too sophisticated for an ogre like me?”

“Yeah, way too sophisticated.” He paused, then turned back around. “And really expensive, too. I spent something like fifty large putting my rig together. The only reason I could even afford it is because Uncle Billy got it covered by my insurance by calling it a physical therapy device or some other bull crap. So technically I guess I didn’t spend fifty large. Either way, I don’t know what strings he yanked to pull that one off—not sure I want to know. But yeah, far too sophisticated for an ogre like you.”

“Well, shit.”

“Eh. I guess it wouldn’t be with an old veteran like me by your side, you know? Too bad you’ll never fit in my rig, otherwise I’d let you try it.”

The big man flashed a wry smile. “Yeah, kid, that’s too bad.”

There was a knock on the door frame, and a young woman with a camera around her neck stepped in. “Hey, Ogre. Lights are hot and I’m already billing. You ready to get sweaty and take some awesome promo shots for Ogremania?”

Finn wrinkled an eyebrow. “Ogremania? Sounds kind of pretentious.”

“Nah,” laughed Lars. “It’s just the Federation’s annual celebration of all things Ogre.” He leaned in close. “I get twenty-five percent of ticket sales and merchandizing.”

“Dang! What’s that net you? A couple thousand bucks?”

Lars reached down and gave the kid a gentle tap on the back. “Something like that, kid. Something like that.”

***

The photo shoot went as well as Lars could have hoped. He posed, he sweated like a race hippo under the fiery lights, and he only had to change into a dry outfit four times. Photoshoots weren’t exactly the highlight of his pro wrestling career, but advances in technology over the past fifteen years or so had cut the time he needed to spend under the light in half. AI based photo editing and computer generating technology had come so far that Lars was ninety-nine percent certain he could not show up and the photos would come out exactly the same.

They barely looked like him anyway, what with the smooth skin and closed pores. The images they put on banners and websites and social media were of an Ogre that looked five years younger than he had been when he got the call informing him he was winning his first title.

Lars blamed it all on flat screen TVs.

Nobody cared about people’s pores until they could see the damn things so well they rivaled an old nail hole in the drywall above the tube. It didn’t really cause any harm, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t pay attention to the damn programming.

He wasn’t an attractive man by any means, but he loved himself and he loved the way he looked. His resting bastard face spewed mean and angry, and those two emotions fit him like a 4XL t-shirt. The way the Federation kept tweaking his image bothered him, but it didn’t bother him enough to make a big deal out of it.

Pro wrestling was all a big song and dance move, anyway. The Federation decided who was on top, and Lars wasn’t the type of guy to drop a deuce in his own buffet. He played ball; he made reasonable requests, and they rewarded him for it.

That thought—of a buffet—made his stomach rumble. “Hey, kid? Did you bring any snacks like I told you? I could sure go for a Sno Ball and a couple of Ding Dongs.”

***

A short, but painfully snackless, ride share later, Lars and Finn stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway outside Lars’ penthouse apartment. The big man bolted for the door, flashed his key fob against the reader, and swung the door open as he made a beeline for the kitchen. “I’m so damn hungry! I know it’s your first day on the job, kid, but don’t forget my snacks ever again. Got it?”

Finn wheeled his chair forward and came to a stop near an enormous pile of packages that hadn’t been there when they left. He looked them up and down and—

“Got it?” Lars repeated, the words held back by a wad of pink coconut and marshmallow.

“Umm. Uh—um,” Finn stammered, then finally added, “gross,” right as the big man’s head disappeared back inside.

He wheeled a little closer. “Um, what are—”

“Did you even hear me?” Lars’ giant head popped out into the hallway again, bits of marshmallow and chocolate cake having taken up residence in his bushy beard. He swallowed and wiped his face on his sleeve, leaving a brown smudge. “I said don’t forget snacks again, okay?”

“Yeah, don’t forget snacks. Got it. Uh, what is this stuff anyway?” Finn craned his head to read one label on a box and found the answer to his own question. Which was good, because he wouldn’t have understood what Lars said next, anyway. “This is all… this looks like all the stuff for a complete VR rig.”

“Oh, it does?”

“Uh, yeah.” Finn raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you weren’t into gaming. You must have ordered this stuff, what? Month or so ago?”

Lars stepped out of the apartment with Ding Dong in hand. He wrestled with the plastic cover for a moment, then ripped it off like he was at the cusp of the magic moment and shoved it into his mouth. He groaned with satisfaction, cream and drool leaking onto his chin within a microsecond. “Orrer it lah nigh.”

“Dude!” Finn leaned back in disgust. “Didn't anyone ever teach you not to speak with your mouth full?”

Lars swallowed and spoke slowly. “No. I ordered it last night.”

“Last night? Then how did it get here so fast? It took months and months for me to get all the components for my rig after I ordered it.”

“I dunno.” The big man shrugged. “I paid for next day shipping, I guess?”

“Next day shipping. Really?” Finn battled his eyes a few times and shook his head. “Whatever. Why, though?”

“Like I told you at the studio, I thought the game looked fun. I want to take a crack at it. I know nothing about it, so I was hoping you would help me set up.” He paused and batted his green eyes in what could only be described as a well-practiced impression of a professionally seductive, yet well traveled, ogress. “Will you help me set it up, Finn?”

The kid chewed on his lip for half a minute, then looked at Lars, a blank expression on his face. Slowly, the corners of his mouth twisted into a smile, and he let out a snort. “Yeah, of course I’ll help you. I mean, I’ll supervise and tell you how to put it together. I don’t do physical work. If you haven’t noticed, I’m disabled.”

Lars opened his mouth in protest. “But earlier—”

“Shush.” Finn raised a hand to silence him. “Don’t be the guy who gets into an argument with a disabled person about what he can and can’t do.”

***

“Okay,” said Finn, as he adjusted the focus on Lars’ fresh-out-of-the-box-VR headset. “How’s that? Everything clear and in focus?”

“Um, I guess. I see a blue screen.”

“I know you see a blue screen. A blue screen is normal. Is that blue screen in focus?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Lars grunted. “It’s a blue screen. I can’t tell if it’s in focus or not because it’s a screen… that’s blue. If there were letters, I might be able to tell if they were fuzzy, but like I just told you: blue screen.”

“I forgot you were a Neanderthal. I can see when a blue screen is in focus.” Finn sighed, then picked up a tablet connected to the headset by a cable. He made an exaggerated push of a digital button. “There. Now is it in focus?”

Inside the headset, the word DUNGEON blazed to life, rendered in a pixelated cobblestone texture and hovering above a roving digital landscape. Lars leaned back in surprise. “Yeah, looks great. Whoa! It’s unreal. It’s… it’s almost like I’m there!”

“It’s not Unreal. It’s Dungeon.” Finn laughed. “And easy, Ogre. That’s just the title screen. We have to pick a campaign and set up a character for you before I show you what this baby can really do. Take that headset off. We can go through all that on my tablet.”

Lars pulled it off and rubbed a strap sized depression at the back of his head. “Good idea. This strap is a little tight, anyway. We should loosen it.”

“It is loose. As loose as it will go. It’s not my fault you have a titanic sized noggin.” He pursed his lips. “You probably won’t even notice it when we’re loaded in.”

Lars nodded. “Yeah, maybe. I can deal with it.” He looked down at his black suited body and its array of sensors. “To tell you the truth, I’m surprised they even have these suits in my size.”

“I’m not. Gamers can get pretty big. Well, wide, I guess. Though, they’re not usually as tall as you. Wider? Yes. But tall? Nope. Suits are stretchy, so...”

As he set the helmet down on the table next to the rig and took a seat, Lars ran a hand through his beard. “What’s a, um, character?”

“You know? A toon? An avatar?” Finn rolled his eyes. “Oh mylanta. This is going to be harder than I thought. Well, if I have to explain everything, I’m going to need a Health Potion for this.”

“Good idea,” Lars nodded. “I wouldn’t want you to forget to take your meds. Um, on a personal level and a professional one. Or as your employer? Shit.” He rubbed his forehead. “That’s not right. What did Billy tell me I had to say? Oh yeah! Your prescription drug use is your personal business and is none of my concern as long as you are taking your medications as directed by your doctor.”

“I’m not talking about my meds, you idiot!” Finn reached into his backpack and pulled out a clear can, just like he had the first night they met. “I’m talking about my energy drink! You know? Because you’re sucking the life out of me and I need to re-up my hearts.”

“You know, kid? Half the time I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lars licked his lips, then nodded at the clear can. “The other half the time I don’t think I care. But this one has me curious. What’s in the stuff?”

“Well,” Finn cocked his head. “It’s a proprietary formula developed by myself.”

He pointed a thick finger. “You make that?”

Finn nodded. “It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. The chemistry behind consumer foodstuff is one of the primary areas of my research at MIT, so I figured the best way to study what’s in the trash they sell at gas stations and convenience stores is to toss a bunch of stuff together myself. So, it’s a cocktail of chemicals, if you will.”

“Chemicals? Isn’t that dangerous. Like drinking drain cleaner? Sometimes The Embalmer drinks fake drain cleaner in the ring.”

“Drinking drain cleaner?” Finn laughed. “No, nothing like that. You do know that not every chemical is toxic, right?”

Lars shrugged. “Sure, but don’t drinks like that need to get approved by the FDA? What if there’s something in there that reacts with something else and I dunno—your guts explode from the pressure or something?”

“No way! That crap never happens! You’re thinking of urban legends like the pop rocks thing!” Finn slapped the can and grinned. “Yep, and like I said, I designed this baby myself. I’ve put everything my frail body needs to keep me healthy and strong in this transparent can. Once a day, I absorb amino acids, wasting neither food nor fuel. When my kind are in the majority, there will be no more world hunger, no overpopulation. Mark my words.”

“I know you think I’m stupid.” Lars huffed. “But I've watched a lot of TV growing up. A lot. Did you really just try to quote that terrible prison movie from the 90s starring the Highlander guy and Red Foreman as an handsy android and pass it off as your own?”

“No,” Finn lied. “It’s—it’s completely safe, okay? Nothing to worry about. In fact”—he reached into his bag and pulled out another can—“you can have one.”

Hands raised, Lars said, “No thanks. But I am a little tuckered out from the shoot earlier so I am going to get myself an energy drink—one that’s approved by the FDA.”

He walked over to the fridge and came back with a green can. He set it down on the coffee table, opened it, and took a big drink. “Ah! Feels good to drink something safe.”

“Safe, huh?” Finn raised an eyebrow. “It says Embalming Fluid on the can.”

“It is Embalming Fluid. Not real embalming fluid, but fake. It’s The Embalmer’s energy drink. Embalming Fluid, get it? Haha! He has somebody drop a case off outside my apartment every week. With a package of circus peanuts. Don’t ask.”

“I wasn’t going to.” Finn pointed. “But that stuff? There’s no way that’s safe. I can smell it from here. It smells like… real chemicals. The drain cleaner kind.” He retched. “Maybe even boat cleaner.”

“I’ll admit,” Lars pinched his nose shut and took a big swig, “it smells rank. But it’s approved by the FDA, and the Federation.”

“Bull crap! Let me look at that,” shouted Finn as he reached across the table for the can. When he was about halfway there, his arm twitched. “Oh dung beetles! Here comes a tremor.”

Before Lars could even register what was happening, Finn’s arm shook like vibrating concrete. The hand movement that came with the spasm caused the back of his hand to bump into the Health Potion, which collided with the can of Embalming Fluid, sending both cans tumbling like cylindrical dominoes. They flooded the white table with a wave of liquid stimulants, the red and green fluids turning puke gray wherever they met.

“Oh shit, kid,” said Lars, as he stood and reached for the younger man. “Are you oka—”

“The headsets, man!” screamed Finn. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had a flipping tremor. Forget about me and grab the headsets!”

“Huh?”

Finn cocked his head toward the pair of VR goggles sitting right in the path of the gray wave. “The fudging headsets, Lars! Save the fudging headsets!”

“Headsets? Oh! The headsets!”

Lars lurched forward to grab them, but it was too late. By the time he placed his giant hands on the expensive hardware to pull them away, the mixture of compounds had spread underneath both. And worse yet—thin tendrils of electric smoke rose like they had come from that last burning ember of a long abandoned fire.