TEN: OBLIVION II

YOU HAVE DIED

Something about the flashing red prompt snapped Lars’ dissipated mind back into action. Game of life!

Maybe this was all part of the game—part of Dungeon? Some glitch? Or what had Finn called it? A bug. Maybe it was just a bug? He focused—if that was the right word for what his formless self was doing—on the letters, trying to figure what in the hell had just happened. Finn said that loading into Dungeon was disorienting. Maybe this was just normal? Maybe Finn went through this every time he played Dungeon?

No way, he thought. No fucking way getting sucked into a virtual reality headset was in the neighborhood of normal.

Then suddenly the prompt changed:

YOU HAVE DIED

SQUEEZE RIGHT FIST TO EXIT CAMPAIGN

His consciousness melded back together with the new information. He almost felt like he… had a head or something. He tried to turn his head-like thing to get a proper look at the words, and to his surprise, it felt like something in his view shifted.

Okay! That definitely reads like something you’d find in a game! Now, we’re in business, Ogre!

Emboldened by the acquisition of his new head-like thing, Lars clenched his right fist as hard as he could. Nothing happened. He tried again and again. And again. Still nothing. Then he remembered that he had no damn body, which meant he had no damn fist to clench.

Shit! How the hell do I get out of this?! Finn? Finn, can you hear me?

He heard a faint echo of either his own voice or his own thoughts. He wasn't sure which. But he sure as hell didn't get a response from the kid.

Then the prompt changed again:

YOU HAVE DIED

SQUEEZE RIGHT FIST TO EXIT CAMPAIGN

OR

WAIT TO RESPAWN (20)

The numbers ticked down: 19… 18... 17…

Lars felt a sense or urgency permeate through his essence. Respawning can’t be bad, can it? I mean, obviously I want to exit. But this is a game. Shouldn’t I get, like, a menu or something once I’m in? I can just leave then. I hope.

16… 15… 14… 13....

Lars decided he didn’t want to risk it. He tried to clench his fist again, but harder this time. He strained with everything he had to will his fist into existence. And he surprised himself when he saw the faint outline of his hand form. He doubled his efforts, feeling all the strain in his head-like thing, like he was working out a particularly tough piece of yesterday’s sandwich.

The time continued to count down: 12… 11… 10… 9… 8… 7…

I’ve got it! It’s right there! He squeezed like his life depended on it.

6… 5… 4… 3… 2…

And... he farted.

Well, shit.

The timer hit zero, and a single green word replaced the flashing prompt:

RESPAWNING