Just Like the Real Thing

 

It was on WorldSurf that my story begins. Perhaps you haven't played WorldSurf, so I will explain it to you. It's an internet game, no, it's not a game, it's a lifestyle, a program that so accurately simulates life that life itself becomes pointless. Some nay-sayers call us addicts, but I must insist it's not an addiction, I just don't want to stop. And I can do things on there that I wouldn't dream of doing in my other life. Skydiving, alligator wrestling, war games, robbery, rock climbing, drug use, and my polyamourous lifestyle (if you don't think that's dangerous, try having seven lovers and try to keep from getting shot by one of them). I even bought the Nerve Jack the day it came out, so now I can see and feel my Character's pleasures firsthand. A few days after I bought it my doctor got me an I.V. for feeding, he said I had passed out while I was playing, but I don't believe him, I don't remember being away from WorldSurf for a moment.

 

And today I was bored, quite extraordinary, I thought, to be bored while playing WorldSurf. There were no wars to participate in, my many lovers were either busy or offline (imagine that! Thanks to my I.V. and catheter's I had been on non-stop for weeks) and my drug empire and assets had been seized (drugs are still illegal even on WorldSurf, but there are some who hackers frequently sneak them in). All other activities were too far away and I had no kind of money for airfare.

 

So I drove my car to the house of a dear old friend, the man who had gotten me started in the drug trade, my original dealer, Salvatore. I went to him to score some Fantasy Sticks, which I had a small sum of money for. I was surprised to see that he still lived in the same old house as he had when I first met him. I guess he hadn't been nearly as enterprising in the trade as I had been. I knocked on his trashy screen door. When he came to answer it seemed as if we had never met.

 

“What are you here for, and who sent you?” He seemed grumpy as if I had woke him from deep sleep or interrupted sex with whatever man or woman he may have called over.

 

“Salvatore!”

 

“Do I know you, m**********r?”

 

“Tauros Mareen, don't you remember me?” Upon hearing my name his face lightened.

 

“Come on in kid, I haven't seen you in forever. At least not since you became a big-shot dealer.”

 

I sat on his shabby couch and got right down to it, skipping all the small talk.

 

“Well, you see, I got busted and I need a fix to get me back on my feet, perhaps even enough to sell. So I need to ask you if you have any Sticks I can buy.”

 

“Sorry kid I shifted to buying from one of your damned overpriced subordinates and now I have no way to get any Sticks myself. Your boys took over pretty much all the business in the area and with them out of business like this the areas pretty much dry.”

 

“Well, dear friend, you should have called me and gotten them direct, after all I do owe the success of my business to you. I could've gotten you a price that could've put the whole city out of business.”

 

He looked a bit irritated as he began to raise his voice, “You don't think I tried. I called your cell and left you messages, but you never answered. I even called your real house and you didn't answer there either. And besides, who would I have sold them to? Your thugs just about put me out of business.”

 

I do remember getting calls from him, but I don't recall answering them. Why? I must've been busy, I thought. Yes, that must be it, business calls as always.

 

“Guess running my business took up all my time.”

 

“You were dealing, you must've answered your phone sometime. Anyway, I regret to say that just like you had no time for me I have no Sticks for you. What I do have however is Masocaen.”

 

“Mase! You would give your best customer such a s**t drug to sell and use as his own! What a crap drug to use on the wondrous plain of WorldSurf. A stimulant, peh, you must be kidding me, I may as well jack-out and smoke meth.”

 

“Well, if I'm not mistaken you came in here looking for drugs, and I have some for you, it may not be your high class Sticks but I think you'll take them all the same. And besides you were my best customer, but now your just a chap who showed up at my door. I can't really afford to give you a discount either now can I? You gave none to me in your time of plenty, so now I offer you none in your time of need. It'll be seven hundred Sarian for the lot.” He held a vial of dust colored pills out in in front of him.

 

“And how many are in there?” I said, feeling utterly defeated.

 

“Maybe a hundred, no promises.”

 

I handed him the cash and left in an even worse mood then when I had first came in. I popped three mase and followed them with a stout swig of wine that I kept in my flask. Stimulants don't really translate well into a feeling the Nerve Jack can relay so I was sure to take a large dose so as to receive exaggerated effects. It was nothing like the rush and hallucinations of a Stick but it was better than nothing. I did also feel some strong negative effects although I was far too high to care.

 

I was still a bit fucked up when I decided to play a game I had come up with once when I had felt particularly aggressive, the fact that I was now on stimulants was perhaps the reason for my current mood. I parked my car across a lane on a busy two lane road and waited on the cars to line up. Then I waited for one to blow his horn and I pulled away and came in behind him. Today's victim was a small teal blue convertible, as I followed him to an abandoned road I thought of how easy it would be to smash up his sports car with my hulk of an SUC.

 

On a quiet road i advanced on the sports car in my bulky SUC, accelerating easily (it was a sporty model bought while he was a drug baron) and keeping pace with the blue demon. I began to feel the mase wearing off to I pooped another two and pulled up beside the car as I felt the drugs taking effect. “I shall try to be subtle.” I said to myself as edged closer to the car forcing it to pull over, uncomfortably close to the shoulder.

 

As the small car hit the shoulder the driver became visibly distressed. He rode along in the dirt until finally he became sick of dirtying his car and he slammed on his brakes. “Think your smart,” with expert precision he pulled his massive car in front of the tiny thing, blocking his exit. With equal grace the other driver slammed his car into reverse and powered past me.

 

“Touche. So my opponent has skill, I guess it's time to take it up a notch.” I throw my craft into a full 180 and speed down the road to close the gap he had created. I quickly return to my place behind him and ram his bumped with all the force my craft will allow. His rear bumper falls off and my large craft glides effortlessly over it.

 

“Oh the things he must be imagining.” I think to myself. “He must be going through scenarios of road rage and psychotic killers. Ah and rightly so, as he will soon be dead.” He pulls into the empty lane opposite lane and I follow his tease playfully ramming his now non-existent bumper again. His car jolts ahead unexpectedly and careens off the road. I follow. “Perhaps, he thinks I won't chase him if he goes off road. He is quite wrong.”

 

A large rock rips through the underbelly of his car, perhaps because he was going too fast to avoid it. I dodge the rock nimbly as I watch the oil and sparks shoot out from underneath his vehicle. “He doesn't have long now.”

 

Seeing my checkmate I move up beside the car and slam into the drivers door sending the car sliding off at full speed into a large boulder. The car erupts in flames and if that doesn't kill the driver the following explosion surely does. Considering the cars speed, damage the the tremendous blow it had just taken there wasn't too much the driver could have done to avoid it.

 

Putting the brakes into full effect I pause to think over my actions in satisfaction. The rush I feel is as great as orgasm or a high grade blunt of marijuana. Certainly beats a fantasy stick I think as I drive away and back to my home. It's not as I really killed him, after all it's WorldSurf, not the real world. He would just respawn at home cursing me for destroying the car (which, unlike himself but not respawn). Actually, death felt quite good, a tremendous release not unlike sex. I recounted all the ways that I had died on WorldSurf, whether by overdose or participation some crazy event or war or even the occasional suicide. “Ah,” again thinking to myself, “suicide, that would be quite a way to pass the time.”

He popped two mase to give him courage then pulled over into a recharge station parking in the back so as to be out of view. He withdrew the gun from the glove box when he felt sufficiently courageous, inserting the barrel into his mouth and pulling the trigger and feeling at once the glorious release of death.

 

Sadly, it was only then that he realized his folly, he had not been on WorldSurf at all. He had gotten hungry, the kind of hungry an I.V. cannot satisfy. He jacked-out and carried his shriveled neglected body to a recharge station to buy a bag of chips and a soda. After eating he popped a Fantasy Stick and drifted away into a fantasy of being jacked-in, at some point he must've woke from his fantasy thinking he was still playing WorldSurf, not realizing that the rules of mortality still applied.

 

This was the danger of Fantasy Sticks you never know where the line between fantasy and reality would be drawn.

 

And in the real world people don't respawn.