Prologue: Mit-Han-Rou

Curtains hanging over the only window had ample amounts of light peeking through, just enough to distinguish day from night. Unfortunate neighbors who were able to catch a glimpse of my room hollered complaints and wariness for my well-being. Occasional visits from my only friend had him acting like an old man, lecturing me with proverbs and life advices, unsolicited.

I understand what they’re getting at… but sometimes they tend to overreact to the smallest things.

This apartment complex designated small rooms for its cheap price, and mine is incredibly habitable. Many cans of sodas and flavored drinks scatter around the floor, empty. Trash bags had piled themselves on top of a disposable trash can. Dusts covered empty shelves and drawers, lonely and distant of any figurines or belongings.

There was a clear pathway from the door to my desktop, and to my diving-casket. That’s all I need.

Still… to think that I sold most of my valuables to afford this. My miserable job at the local convenience barely made itself useful to this endeavor. Days in-and-out with costumers whom recognize my face was a terrible feeling. All the kids I grew up with in this town are probably living life to its fullest… and here I am, doing whatever I can to scrape enough money for this machine.

The diving-casket is an enormous capsule ranging from five to twelve feet, depending on the size order. My twin-sized bed, flat-screen t.v., coffee brewer, and family heirloom were barely enough to afford this. Through some networking with colleagues and friends from university, I managed to find one of affordable price. Me from years ago would’ve sent a time-transcending punch full of reason and rationale if he found out. Too bad he wasn’t there at the time of purchase.

The flip-phone in my pocket vibrated.

I took out the phone I procured from dumpster-diving and saw a text message from Tickie. One message after another assaulted the phone’s vibration system. Skimming through those broken text messages revealed his intentions to party up in the extremely-hyped upcoming game, Paradise Unto Us.

The only game to be able to take advantage of the diving-casket full-feedback system, or so netizens say. A VR-MMORPG that caters to role-players and hardcore enthusiasts. The upcoming launch is dated midnight today, and the previews and reviews of this second-life game is the epitome of fanaticism. Rumor has it that one has free control of many aspects of the game, as if it was real life. Reviewers who've experience the game left comments and anticipation of the game’s unbelievable fidelity to realism and fantasy. People hunting monsters felt sensations similar to how they’d imagine the intensity of the pain. In-game criminals caught by player-soldiers and player-guards were forced to wait in a cell, like they would if they were caught in real life.

A tune of basic melody rang from my pocket. I picked it up, and awaited a mouthful of impetuousness.

“Why the hell didn’t you respond to any of my texts?” Tickie shouted. “I know you’re there! You’re not dead, yet! Freakin’ respond to my messages next time, bastard!”

Ah, Tickie. Sometimes I can’t help but feel like he just wants me dead. It’s over my head how we’ve managed to stick together for so long, especially when we were antagonistic towards each other in Junior High and High School.

Tickie isn’t his real name; it’s what I call him for being such an annoying tick to go after the same crush in our adolescent years. Eventually, our middle-school and high-school crush rejected both of our attempts, and we were back to being two lonely kids.

Fate had a weird intention for us.

We went to the same high school, joined the same club, and had the same classes and teachers. We spent a lot of time together, whether I liked it or not. University life was when our paths began to part… and then serendipitous fate brought us back together.

“Say something… Don’t make me look weird.” Tickie whispered. “My fiancé will think I’m talking to myself.”

I held back a chuckle. Where so many things have gone differently than I expected in my life, Tickie always seem to be able to persevere and get whatever he wants. Serves you right, Tickie. Learn to suffer like a normal person. I’ll rub some misfortune onto you. Have my funeral bill when I’m dead.

“Server’s launching at 12:00 A.M., right?” I asked.

Browsing the game’s main website depicted a theme of olden days and fantasy. Visual effects that played into the fantasy theme appeared when I clicked on the game’s ‘About D.A.’ page. Blocks of information regarding the game’s gameplay, story, lore, and player’s creativity filled my browser. It was a lot to take in but, many times, reading this isn’t require to enjoy the game. It serves its purpose to flesh out the world, not to grade us on a test.

“Yes!” Tickie’s enthusiasm shot through the roof. For him to show this much excitement is what I expected from someone that’s been raving about the game since its teaser trailer.

An opened letter sat on my desk, with my fingers tapping on it as Tickie continues to express his love for a game he hasn’t played yet.

“Dear Mit-Han-Rou,

Talking to you like this is a bit… weird. How about grabbing a drink this afternoon to get things going again? It’s been… three years now, hasn’t it? Let’s talk about the second-life technology sometime again. And the new game that’s coming out! If you’re interested, I’ll be eating at the same place we’ve had lunch the day we met. This afternoon -- come! I promise I won’t bail on the bills like the first time.

Yours truly,

Anastasia.”

Tickie’s one-sided call grew louder and louder the more he realize that I wasn’t particularly paying attention to him.

“Tonight, right? I’ll see you then.”

Abruptly ending the call had my phone spammed with more messages. Tickie relentlessly sent texts with a single letter over the course of multiple messages. ‘Better be there!’ was his final message, hilariously enough.

Small trashes and trash bags littering the carpet made it difficult searching for the key to my apartment’s door. Living alone made me complacent, even I can see that. But it isn’t as bad as my neighbors made it out to be. I can eat here, I can sleep here, and the roof won’t fall on top of me anytime soon.

Sometimes, people just love to talk.

After finding my key beneath a trash bag and taking my wallet from my desk, I left through the door to meet an old friend.

On my way out of the apartment complex, Mr. Bijoux greeted me. The ever-so-kind elderly Asian man had a natural curl to his lips. Little amounts of springing, curly hair complimented his wrinkly face. A never-hurt-a-fly demeanor perfectly matched his appearance.

“Hello, Mr. Bijoux.” I greeted him respectfully. “Please wait a little bit longer for this month’s rent!”

Mr. Bijoux waved at me, and continued to sit still and stare at the entrance of his apartment complex.

I smiled back and left through the doors.

It was sunny. Too sunny. I hate the sun.

Any minute now I can feel my body begging to drench my clothes in sweat. Outward appearances comes second to regulating body heat, is what I like to think, but I can’t show up today cover in sweat. It’s not like I have much of a choice, though.

Looking back at the apartment complex, I reached out my hand and thanked whatever genius created the air conditioner. We will only part for now. Please embrace me with your cold, shivering temperature tonight.

Through those transparent doors Mr. Bijoux waved at me, again.

I sheepishly waved back, and resumed to my destination.

Apartment-hunting can be a real pain in the ass. Out of so many applications I’ve sent to other affordable rents, he was the only one to take me in. Not only that, he also helped me moved in and situated myself. For that, I am incredibly grateful.

It was hot. Too hot. I hate hot weather.

Dryness of the air and the surging radiance of the sun may as well cook me on the spot, right here and now. The sheer brilliance of the sun had my eyes squinting for shade. With every breathe I take the humidity’s icky-ness became one with me. My watery mouth became desperate; my tongue threaten to lick the dripping sweats that I can no longer control.

Street names ran by, indifferently. I dragged my feet along with a blank mind. How anyone could live without air conditioners beats me. No one in their right mind would walk in such a torturing weather. Empty sidewalks couldn’t agree more with me.

“MHR!” A familiar feminine voice called out to me in a name only very few known.

I turned to the opposite street of me, disgruntled and pissed-off. There, Anastasia, in all her beauty, sat unabated by nature’s wrath. A white parasol protected her from blinding rays. Shadows casted by the umbrella made the area underneath seem so cool and refreshing. Long, wavy hair that fell to her shoulder would have the heat dare them to cut it off. A glass of ice-cold water on her table was all I could focus on.

Kill me.

Slouching my way over there, I couldn’t help but think that the air around her is any less different than it is around me. Granted, my black long-sleeve shirt and pants aren’t fit for today, compare to her white sundress and expensive-looking dark blue hat. Perhaps her apparel has some sort of heat inhibitor she spent with all that money she carries around.

“MHR!” Anastasia smiled and pulled up a chair next to her. “Are you dying?”

“Hi, yes.” I tried to fix my posture and sat up-right, but the hammering heat had other plans.

“Three long years… and you’ve really let yourself go!” Anastasia laughed while examining my protruding gut. Pinching my oblique had her yelping, as if she never touched her own fat before. “…Time to diet?”

“You didn’t send me an old-fashioned letter to talk about my health, did you?” I rhetorically asked.

“Hm… right.” Anastasia took out thick documents of paper from her luxurious-branded purse and handed it to me. “I didn’t expect this kind of weather when I dropped off the letter this morning. Sorry.”

Skimming through the pages revealed information about the upcoming game, the VR-MMORPG, Paradise Unto Us. The verbiage used in these documents catered to businessmen. Statistical probability of sales, short-term goals and long-term goals, marketing strategies, budgets, and roadmaps were the main points these papers went into depth about. Remarkably, I didn’t expect the last line I read to be something implemented so soon: Deep-learning and neural networks coming together to blur the lines between players and NPCs.

Anastasia anticipated my shock and grinned like she won a chess game. Certainly, I didn’t expect technology to advance this fast. But to show me this…

“I don’t remember reading this on the game’s website.” I said.

“Of course not.” She sipped on the ice-cold water. “Ever since our college days I worked at C.R.U. as a researcher, and this is one of our leading projects. Players in our upcoming game won’t be told explicitly, but they’ll know from interactions with their surroundings.”

“Neat.” I said indifferently.

Anastasia has always been keen on cognition, and loved the way our mentality comes into play with our daily lives. Unfortunately, she developed an odd quirk because of this. Reading people’s mind and playing her own mental games was a compelling reason that dissuaded any suitors thus far. I’ve warned her about this quirk of hers, and she couldn’t be any more proud of herself for having it. Instead of expressing genuine happiness for her, I unenthusiastically clapped my hand so as to not stroke her ego more than it already had been.

“And that brings you, friend C--“

“--Hi.”

“--into this equation!”

Anastasia crossed her arms with a pouty face, as if to say ‘Don’t interrupt me.’ College girl friends of ours thought that if she learned to be more mindful of the way she handle herself, then finding a guy in her early twenties would be the easiest thing in her life. Years ago she wasn’t adverse to intimate relationships; she was the most sought after of the girls with her once-in-a- millennium physical sculpture. But the more people learn about her, the more men drifted away from her.

I beg to differ.

If Anastasia were to be less Anastasia, I couldn’t imagine our friendship lasting this long.

“What’s wrong? Why are you staring at me?” Anastasia smirked, proudly presenting her shiny teeth. “Have you fallen for me? After all these years, you have finally realize that there’s no one else as gifted as I am, right?”

“Neat.” I unenthusiastically clapped my hand once more.

These past three years… how many people have stroke your ego? People sure can be dangerous. Philanthropists with a rich amount of good-will-currency freely hands out pleasantries and compliments, but here lies the problem. This monster here will gobble them all up with an infinite capacity. I doubt all the good and nice words in the English dictionary can fill her egotistical cosmos.

“Back on topic.” Anastasia pointed a finger at me. “Mit-Han-Rou--“

“--Anastasia.” I pointed a finger back at her.

“--I want you to drop your job at the convenience store and contract with us!”

The sudden announcement swept my face with astonishment. A contract with a big company would give me more opportunities to form social networks. If the pay is good, then I wouldn’t have to worry about being behind on rent. However, such a thing would never work out. Finding an apartment and a job that’d accept me despite my records was hard enough. There’s a zero-percent chance the biggest VR-MMORPG publisher would even think about signing a contract with me.

She should know this… yet…

“You’re thinking that it wouldn’t work out.” Anastasia lifted her chin to put on an almighty air. “But before you presumptuously deny the opportunity, listen to what I have to say first.”

Before I could even said a word, she started talking about what the job entails. If I do contract with C.R.U., it would be as an agent to further richen the experience of their main product. Specifically, the job would be to take the helm and become one of Paradise Unto Us’ dungeon master. To further blur the lines between NPCs and real-life players, Anastasia’s team wanted to place a carefully selected amount of candidates into the game and collect data on whether or not people can discern the difference between their newly-developed AIs and human experience.

There are really gung-ho about making this launch title the best VR-MMORPG out on the market.

“So… what would I do?” I asked. “Shoo players away from my dungeon? Place a go-away picket sign, so people won’t bother me?”

“Nope.” Anastasia shook her head. “I want you to show me… How would you live a second life if you were given the chance?”

I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant by that, but I couldn’t help my eyes from widening and my mouth from dropping. Not even the savage heat could distort those words so clearly. Dropping my crappy job for this… To start anew -- a fresh and clean slate, with no smears on my record… A second chance at life… A burning passion erupted from inside. The sudden rush of adrenaline had me wanting to kick the air, punch a training bag, or do whatever it takes to expend all of this rush of emotions.

Looking into Anastasia’s blue, confident eyes had me all the more reassured. She wasn’t joking; the opportunity is real, only if I would grab it. I don’t know what else to say. How could I thank her? An once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and I can’t even manage to find the words to express my gratitude.

…Thank you? …I’ll do anything for you? Various words to express gratitude popped up in my mind, but none of them had the level -- the intensity -- I wanted. Phrases of all kinds clustered together, making everything a huge headache to select. My mouth was open, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Anastasia held a calm smile, reached into the stack of papers she handed to me, and took out a single sheet that required a signature. Placing a pen next to my shaking hands, she patiently smiled at me.

Thank you, truly, Anastasia.

I couldn’t manage to find my voice, but a fallen tear cemented my feelings as I wrote my signature.