We All Have to Make Sacrifices
It had started when Emily had asked him to play the online role-playing game World of Warcraft. Being dimly aware of his rapidly advancing senility, and fully aware of his bladder-control problems, he’d had misgivings as to his abilities from the start, though it had taken a while for him to admit it: Don’t they do games for stupid people? he had asked her. There must be a huge, untapped market there. Addictive? How can a game be addictive if you have to spend ten minutes working out how to fall over?
Emily had laughed, reassuring him that he’d soon be hooked on it; he just had to get used to it. But when, after a week, he’d still only made it to being a Level 0 Serf, she became more serious. ‘Simon,’ she emailed him, ‘I think there’s another online RPG service you should try. Something I think you’ll like. I’ve been playing one of their games for a while. Not many people know about it, cause it’s kinda illegal, but here’s the link, and a code number to use to get access…’
As soon as he’d logged on to the site, his imagination had been caught by the audacity of the concept. William Gibson had coined the phrase ‘jacking in’ – directly connecting the human brain to a computer system – in his book Neuromancer, but Simon had never thought to see such a thing in his lifetime. But this was not merely using one’s mind to hack into a computer, it was total immersion gameplaying. Once jacked in, all your perceptions of your surroundings were direct; there was no monitor or keyboard: you really were inside the world of the game. It would be indistinguishable from reality.
He had been apprehensive at first. As no ethical surgeon would consider carrying out such an operation, he had had to insert the connection point himself. Emily had told him she’d had hers done in the back room of a disreputable tattoo parlour in one of the shadier parts of Shreveport, but he had no such option. Using a power drill to make a hole in his own skull had been agonisingly painful, but he was not one to be outdone by a 20-year-old girl. Besides, he was British: he had his country’s national tradition for vain acts of stupidity to uphold.
But then it was done. Once inserted, the implant had automatically connected to his brain’s neural pathways, and the USB port behind his right ear was ready to be used. He only had to connect the cable to his PC, onto which he had already downloaded and installed the necessary software, and he would be ready. He had jacked in.
That had been a week ago.
He had to admit that the game Emily had chosen, Worshippers of Evil, or WOE as it was more generally known, was indeed utterly addictive. He never wanted to leave: really never wanted to leave. He was now a Level −3 Necromancer: all he had to do was to dig up and defile a few corpses occasionally, and then spend the rest of the time in his marble-walled rooms, lying on a luxurious couch and being attended by a pair of succubi; daemonic NPCs – Non-Player Characters – who took the form of ravishingly beautiful young girls. He wouldn’t be allowed to have sex with them until he had descended to Level −20, but as he wasn’t entirely sure how to have sex, that didn’t really matter. At the moment he was satisfied by being hand-fed delicacies by them, and admiring their lithe bodies and perfectly-formed breasts: apparently he’d be able to fondle these when he’d got to Level −5, something which he was quite looking forward to.
He’d performed his first few sacrifices already. All he had to do was to cut the still-beating heart out of a living victim, and he gained ten experience points. He’d felt rather squeamish about the first one, particularly when she had begged him tearfully to spare her life as he’d shackled her helplessly struggling body to the bloodstained altar. He’d winced at her screams as he had thrust the sacrificial knife between her ribs and torn open her chest cavity, but she was only an NPC, and he knew he’d become inured to such acts – even to enjoy them. At least that was what Emily had said, he reminded himself uneasily.
He hadn’t seen much of Emily since starting WOE: she, or rather her character, was a Level −24 High Priestess of Evil, and he normally only observed her at a distance during special public rituals such as mass executions. He was therefore somewhat surprised when he had a summons from her. A muscular young male NPC with an almost androgynously beautiful face, wearing only metal-studded black leather shorts, arrived at his chambers, and told him that his presence was requested. He gave no other details. The term ‘request’ was a formality: it was effectively a command. Simon reluctantly detached himself from the succubus who was coiled in his lap, stroking his long, thick beard, and followed the NPC to Emily’s chambers. He knew better than to keep her waiting: her impatience and cruelty were as feared in the Game as they were in real life.
On arriving at Emily’s chambers within the High Temple of Evil, Simon’s escort was replaced by two other NPCs, Emily’s personal bodyguard, also muscular, broad-shouldered young men who both bore an unnerving resemblance to Brad Pitt: he was not surprised though, for he already knew of Emily’s perverted tastes. Each carried a thick, heavy baton and a coiled lash, though he was not sure if these were for disciplinary or sexual purposes. It was they who led him into the room where Emily’s character awaited him; standing next to a grotesque throne that struck terror into the hearts of all who saw it: it was constructed entirely of human bones – those of her many victims – with a Hello Kitty seat cushion as its only concession to comfort.
Emily’s character was a small, slim, elegant young woman with a pale, flawless skin and long dark hair. Her face seemed, like her real-life one, to be that of a young, innocent girl, almost a child, an appearance shockingly at variance with the character she played. As he paused to stand before her, one of the bodyguards struck him at the back of his legs with his baton, making him fall to his knees: anticipating another blow he bowed his head in obeisance.
‘Let him stand,’ she ordered, and the NPCs obediently stood back. Simon struggled to his feet with a little difficulty, wincing as he did so, but kept his head bowed in a mixture of respect and terror. Emily stepped up to him, gave a charming laugh and raised his face with one delicate hand, looking him directly in the eye.
‘Simon,’ she said, ‘I’ve had you brought here because I want your advice.’
‘My advice?’ Simon replied cautiously, ‘you’ve always ignored it before. You still don’t distinguish correctly between the transitive verb ‘to lay’ and the intransitive verb ‘to lie’, for example.’
He convulsed in pain as she frowned and inflicted a Level 3 You Fucking Bastard spell upon him, and he hastily shut his mouth.
‘As I was saying,’ she continued, ‘I need your advice. Your assistance, to be exact. As you probably know, I have sunk to Level −24 in my role as a High Priestess of Evil. There is a certain quest I must undertake in order to reach Level −25.’ At this point a brief expression of anguish crossed her face, and Simon momentarily felt a deep of sympathy for her. The signs of severe WOE addiction were all too obvious.
She started to walk from the room, out into a long passageway; Simon followed nervously. The two bodyguards followed also, a few paces behind him. ‘The difficulty is that the quest requires me to sacrifice a WOE player who is a virgin both in the Game and in real life.’
‘Well,’ said Simon thoughtfully, ‘that could be tricky. I’m afraid I don’t know of any player who’s a virgin in real life – other than me, of course. You’d have to try asking subtly-phrased questions to trap someone gullible and foolish enough into it.’ He gave a laugh. ‘You should be able to find someone though – there are plenty of really naive people in WOE.’
By this time they had reached another doorway: Emily entered the dimly lit room beyond, and Simon followed her. It was a Chamber of Sacrifice, though more lofty and impressive than any Simon had been in before. A huge altar stone dominated the room; rusty shackles hung from each corner, and a trail of dried blood led along a gutter from it into a drain nearby.
Simon realised that the two bodyguards had stepped up alongside him: they now each took hold of one of his arms. He looked at Emily, puzzled. ‘What are they doing?’ he asked.
‘Simon,’ she said, turning to look at him again. ‘You once said that you’d do anything for me.’
‘Did I?’ asked Simon. ‘No, I’m pretty sure I didn’t. I’d have remembered.’
‘Simon, Simon,’ Emily chided him, ‘you’ve told me yourself what a terrible memory you have. I assure you that you did say it. Do you think I’d make something like that up?’
‘Well,’ said Simon, ‘I—’ then he hesitated, feeling the grip on his arms tighten. The bodyguards were beginning to lift him from his feet. ‘I suppose I must have done,’ he said weakly.
‘There you are then,’ smiled Emily sweetly. ‘Now, here’s your chance to honour that promise.’ She indicated to the guards, who hoisted Simon onto the slab and began to attach the shackles. Simon twisted round to look at her, shocked. Everyone knew that no Player versus Player combat was allowed, for death in the Game meant death in the real world: the degree to which a player’s consciousness was embedded into the WOE game program made it inevitable.
Emily unsheathed her sacrificial knife. ‘You know how much getting down to Level −25 means to me, Simon.’ Her eyes were glittering in eager anticipation. ‘We all have to make sacrifices.’
Simon closed his eyes, accepting his fate. He knew there was no point in begging for mercy. He felt no anger towards her; only pity. At least death would spare him the horror and indignity of sharing her terrible addiction.
He could only pray that one day she would be free.
NOTES
It grieves me to say it, but both my illegitimate daughters were addicted to WoW at that time, and in Shannon’s case, it was to continue for many years. Therapy helped, but I suspect she was permanently changed by her scarring experiences. It is a terrible thing to see the mind of a person you love being destroyed as their brain atrophies and they become a shambling shell of their former selves. Still, at least they are both free now.
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