Chapter 001

  Mr. Gallagher

  When the day finally arrived, it felt completely surreal to Ethan Jones. He’d been waiting months to get plugged in for real.

  One minute earlier he’d been talking to a cute nurse or assistant, or whatever title she had, as a small hose on his nostrils channeled sedative hypnotic agents into him.

  Asleep in a NexaTechNeuro Pod, his mind was connected to a digital cloud for the next ninety days.

  /PLAYER.ETHAN.JONES.USA ….

  //START.STORYLINE.6294768b.03a ….

  ///INITIATING.SAFE.LEVEL.ZERO ….

  Ethan Jones awoke in a foggy darkness, white words appearing before his eyes and lingering for a while.

  One Week Ago

  The words faded away to reveal a 1920s gangster noir simulation. It surprised him. His eyesight was like the grainy film of old movies long ago archived.

  Immediately in the thick of a giant city, he found himself walking home late at night from a job at one of his boss's rental units, having fixed a leaky pipe. The oddest thing about it all was the feeling of purpose and normalcy.

  He knew everything his character had done all day, and he knew what he wanted to do. Ethan just wanted to get back to his apartment and relax after getting several jobs done.

  Wearing dirty old overalls and thick boots, he saw the giant metal city from the perspective of a lowly laborer. Tall buildings made of brick and metal, and built in art deco and neoclassical designs surrounded him, shooting up into the night.

  The sidewalks were dark and foreboding, gas-powered street lamps casting eerie shadows all around. 1920s sedans and coupes were packed all along the sidewalk, and as he walked, he admired their curved bodies.

  He’d only ever seen cars like them at museums and classic car shows previous to waking up in New Horizon City, and he took his time gazing upon the elegant shapes.

  The sound of screeching tires interrupted his quiet journey through the city. Turning, he saw an old black Packard with a missing fender careening around the corner.

  Ethan’s heart raced as the car skidded to a stop just outside Rose Bird, a nightclub owned and frequented by Owney “The Owl” Johnson.

  The man was a high-ranking member of The Green Fists, one of the local gangs. Ethan had immediately recognized him on the other side of the street, just outside the entrance to the club.

  The gangster’s distinctive pot-bellied silhouette was unmistakable even in the dim light. Walking on the sidewalk with two bodyguard henchmen, the man’s face turned to see the same vehicle Ethan saw.

  Before he could fully process what happened, he watched as four mobsters jumped from the stopped Packard and opened fire on The Owl and his two bodyguards.

  The shots echoed down both stretches of the avenue. Ethan ducked behind a parked sedan, heart pounding in his chest.

  The Owl and his men were killed before they could run for cover against the attack. Their bodies were slumped against the concrete wall and the sidewalk.

  The gunmen raced back to get in the Packard, their faces twisted with malice.

  As the last one climbed in, Ethan caught a glimpse of the man. It was Mr. Gallagher, his landlord and boss, and himself a member of The Green Fists.

  He couldn't believe what he'd just seen, and a dread slowly crept into his mind. He wondered why Mr. Gallagher would kill one of his own. He didn’t know much about mobster business, but he was pretty sure they had some kind of rules about taking each other out.

  Just a second later, and the black Packard with the missing fender had sped away from the scene of the crime. The whole thing left Ethan tormented by the fact his boss had done such a thing.

  He was just a hired handyman after all, and he didn't want any part of gang business. That, he sighed, was probably going to change. Being the only witness to a mob hit wasn’t a good position to be in.

  "Great," he said, "after seeing that, I might need a few drinks."

  Abruptly, the dream-like world faded away to a foggy blackness. Some considerable time passed before anything else happened.

  Present Day

  The white words in his vision faded away as he heard pounding on his apartment door.

  He felt annoyed by the sound even before his eyes fluttered open.

  Pulled back into his new mafia world after the transition screen, he almost believed everything was real. He never much cared for the sensation of waking up. It always felt like an unwelcome jolt of reality.

  “Ugh… Okay, I get it…”

  Looking around in the darkness as the banging intensified, he groaned at his new virtual reality.

  He was sprawled out on a thin mattress on the floor, wreaking of cheap liquor. It clung to his overalls, adding to the frustration he already felt about the heavy knocking.

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  The room spun as he sat up, remnants of a dream about gangsters having shoot-outs with one another dripping away like the last bit of prohibition whisky from an unlabeled bottle. It was gone, and he was awake in this other weird place giving him uncanny valley vibes.

  "Ugh…"

  He stood, feeling as though he was helped up with assistance. The hardwood floor was cold against his bare feet, the thick boots he’d worn earlier in the opening scene now sitting next to his meager sleeping pad.

  The apartment he found himself in was a grimy time capsule from the 1920s, with peeling wallpaper and a single dark window.

  His vision was muted to browns, greys, and other stale colors. Ethan understood immediately the system had used false dreams and memories as a way to ease him into the world. He knew a heck of a lot of details about a place he’d only just woke up in.

  "Jones! Open up, you no-good layabout!"

  The urgent voice was unmistakable. Somehow he knew it without actually knowing it; a sign the developers and bioengineers had injected a false history into him.

  Thomas Gallagher wanted in. The man was his landlord, and he had a high rank in The Green Fists, the largest mafia gang in Grimsborough Heights. The Grims was just one of the many districts making up the metropolis known as New Horizon City.

  Some otherworldly force helped guide his movement towards the noise, like he was in a tutorial. He could still partially control his view and his thoughts, but the rest of him just did whatever he was scripted to do.

  The banging intensified and Mr. Gallagher rattled the handle, shaking the door in its frame. The man really wanted in, and he didn't sound too happy about having to wait.

  Ethan unlocked the deadbolt and yanked the door open, feeling nervous about letting the mobster in. He wondered if the man knew he'd seen him kill Owney "The Owl" Johnson last week.

  Mr. Gallagher’s weathered face was a thundercloud of anger. The landlord wasn’t old enough to look as old as he did, at least in Ethan’s judgment. The stress of being a murderer had likely aged the man.

  His boss had a grey name above his head, so even if Ethan hadn’t known him before, it was obvious who the man was now.

  Mr. Gallagher pushed by him into the room, eyes darting around the small apartment. He’d never seen the man happy, but Mr. Gallagher was especially angry now and chose the opportunity to yell at him.

  Looking as he looked, Ethan took in his starting location in full. The little apartment was barely large enough for a small table and two chairs, plus the thin mattress he’d woke up on. The rest of the place was empty except for that waste.

  "You call this livin'? It's a pigsty!" the mobster barked, kicking one of the many empty whisky bottles out of his path.

  Ethan tried to speak but his voice didn’t transmit into the game, confirming he was still in a scripted opening of some type.

  He understood it sometimes took the mind and body a while to acclimate. They had warned him about this prior to the start. Still, it was his first full-immersion simulation and he was amazed it felt almost like the real world.

  He even felt a small amount of fear created by the man’s aggressive tone and posture.

  "And as for the state of my building, it's a disgrace!" Mr. Gallagher continued. "You're supposed to be keepin' the place in shape, but you've been drinkin' up all our whisky, huh?”

  Ethan ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. Defending himself wasn’t necessary but he nearly did by reflex, only stopping when his avatar spoke for him.

  "Mr. Gallagher, I've been meaning to get to the repairs, but—"

  "But nothin'!" the man interrupted, a finger jabbing the air. "I ain't happy about your level of work, Jones. You think I let you live in this unit for free? There's other units out there with problems that need fixin', and you ain’t done ‘em!”

  It was all true, he realized. The false backstory he’d suddenly come to know about himself all flowed into the forefront of his thoughts.

  He’d worked for Mr. Gallagher a couple of months. He was the man’s maintenance guy for the rental properties he owned in Grimsborough Heights. It wasn’t his first choice for work, but jobs were hard to come by.

  In exchange for the work, he was paid a meager salary. It wasn’t enough to live on, but to make up the difference, Mr. Gallagher let him stay in one of the units.

  All the whisky bottles on his floor told another story. He'd tried to drink away that night he saw the man kill Owney Johnson. It had only been a week, but he saw at least a dozen empty bottles on the floor. He could smell the bender lingering on his clothes and in the air.

  Mr. Gallagher stepped closer, voice dropping low.

  “You better shape up, and do it quick. You know who I’m with. I ain’t afraid to make people disappear, if you catch my meanin’.”

  Ethan swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the man's threat. The Green Fists were not known for their mercy, and he knew exactly what Mr. Gallagher was capable of.

  He didn't want any part of gang business. He never had. He'd successfully avoided the mobsters and the vampires ever since moving to the district a few months back.

  "Understood, Mr. Gallagher," his character said on his behalf. "I'll get to work right away. The plumbing, the mowing, the window, everything."

  The man eyed him skeptically, then grunted. "You've got till the end of the week. And don't think about skimpin' on the work. Last guy that tried gettin' away with doin' nothin' ended up missin' in the harbor. Got it?"

  He nodded. "Yes, sir! I got it!"

  With that, the man left and then Ethan's character let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

  It was serious and dramatic enough he'd thought Mr. Gallagher was going to do more than just threaten. Yet, he should have known better. It was a hard-coded opening meant to shift him into his new digital world.

  Mr. Gallagher was simply a NPC with an intense persona. The man and his storyline were both created to elicit that specific reaction from the player.

  Ethan exhaled his tension, looking around once the mobster had left. Dealing with The Green Fists, and doing any work for Mr. Gallagher were problems he could deal with later. It was still dark out, and although he wasn't sure what time of day it was, it felt like early morning hours.

  When he closed the door, a semi-transparent square appeared before his eyes, text filling it. The screen, or more technically, the overlay, moved with his view as he moved his head, but the interface remained the same.

  A seductive woman’s voice read as letters appeared with the clicky-clacky snap of typewriter keys, forming an important system message.

  “Are you experiencing any severe side-effects from the initial loading sequence? These might include but are not limited to: heart attack, panic attack, stroke, seizure, blindness, numbness, migraine, incontinence, or death?"

  For some reason he instantly thought about his butt-crack, and he didn't feel any excrement there when he squeezed his cheeks. He was relieved to know he hadn't defecated himself.

  The last one surely had to be a joke as well. If someone had died, there was no possible way they could answer the question.

  The woman finished. “Please verbally say yes or no to continue."

  "No," he said, having not experienced any major problems.

  “Thank you."

  A few seconds passed.

  "Are you experiencing any loss of sensation? You should be able to see, smell, hear, and feel your environment. Are you missing one or more senses? Please verbally say yes or no to continue."

  "No."

  "Thank you."

  A long moment stretched into boredom as nothing seemed to happen. Then the voice returned.

  “Before completely entering, would you like a glimpse of New Horizon City? Character Ethan Jones will start in the Grimsborough Heights district. Answering no does not provide any extra benefits. You will be locked in place until other Grimsborough Heights players finish watching the video.”

  It seemed like a no-brainer, yet he still considered his answer for a minute. He of course wanted every possible advantage he could get over other players, but he also didn't want to waste any time.

  Ultimately, it didn't matter, since the woman’s voice had told him it would lock the other players up until everyone had watched the video. It only made sense to watch it.

  He said, "yes."

  “Thank you."

  Ethan's vision faded to foggy blackness once again and the introductory teaser began.

  In the opening, Ethan flew just below the clouds, taking in a bird's eye view of a massive city.

  The urban spread reminded him of Chicago or New York, where millions of people lived in tall, dense buildings.

  Those big cities from his reality paled in comparison to the metropolis that was New Horizon City.

  It was huge.

  In one direction, dimly-lit skyscrapers dominated a dark gulf coast where the city met a black ocean void of any light. In the other direction, structures filled his view to the edge of his sight.

  Thousands of gigantic brick, concrete, and copper structures shot up in art-deco and neoclassical designs. Tens of thousands of other buildings lit up the night behind those and spread across his entire view, stretching far into the distance.

  He studied the tall, artistic buildings, and it was clear he was in a bygone era. There were no modern structures of curved steel and smooth glass. Simply put, he was awestruck by the elegant designs of a fictional American city from before The Great Depression.