We lived in a world where reality, if we chose, could be anything we wanted. We were given the privilege to step out of a mundane world and into a fantastical one. We were made to believe that our lives, however bleak in reality, could be grand - ever-sacred within the virtual realm of our self-proclaimed sanctuary. That no matter how dark the odds seemed against us, every failure would be met with a second chance.
We were wrong.
1 Month Earlier
"We're here live in front of Dream Co.'s New York Head Quarters where in just moments we are expected to hear from the company regarding their fifth server crash of their first and trending game, Sanctuary, since the start of the year."
The year is 2113 - the real and virtual worlds have never been more intertwined. The development of virtual reality has soared to astronomical heights since its first appearance in 1957 by filmmaker Morton Heilig and the vision of the Sensorama.
The HMD (Head Mounted Display by computer scientist Ivan Sutherland in 1968.
The Super Cockpit by military engineer Thomas Furness in the 1970s through the 1980s.
The Aspen Movie Map by MIT, and in 1978, sparking computer artist Myron Krueger's term "artificial reality" and later computer scientist and artist Jaron Lanier's "virtual reality" in the 1970s and 80s.
The Sega VR by Sega in 1991, delving us deeper into the realm of experiencing fantastical worlds, only to be enhanced still by the Oculus Rift in 2010 - created by then 18-year old entrepreneur Palmer Luckey.
"Since its much-anticipated release early last year, the popular but controversial game had seemed to be making its mark on both gaming and business platforms, developing a fully neurologically immersive gaming platform – the first and only of its kind."
Back then, humankind was limited, confined in the once static immersion of virtual headsets, merely able to see, hear, and have the illusion of moving within and interacting with a virtual world. But in 2112, Dream Co. went on to redefine what it meant to immerse yourself in another world with the invention of the D0ME.
"But after the Criteari fiasco last year, Dream Co. has been under continuous scrutiny about its platform moving forward, under strict guidelines and restrictions for how they're allowed to influence and control the brain function and activity of players."
The D0ME became the first virtual reality device to interact with all eight sensory systems by inducing a state of continuous lucid dreaming, allowing players to feel fully immersed in the worlds they log into.
"And now, with their second server crash in less than seven days, marking the fifth crash in less than four months, parents, players, and even members of government are becoming more and more concerned with the damaging and potentially deadly consequences of being forcibly logged out of the neurologically linked platform."
Parent, Sandra Villalobos – "How am I supposed to feel knowing my son is logging into something that could leave him traumatized? Or worse! It's been months! Why haven't they fixed this? Ever since they shut down that split – whatever it was, I've been terrified of what's going to happen to my boy. But he's 18, I can't take it from him – so what, I'm just supposed to wait around and wait to bury him? This is crazy! They shouldn't even be in business after last year. All these companies care about is making money. They don't care about their customers – they don't care about our children."
Player, Timothy Rambo – "Look, bugs happen in all games. And yeah, I can understand that this is a little more concerning considering the platform, but it's still not surprising. They've only been up and running for a little over a year – it's actually impressive that they've only started crashing now considering how many players they have on a daily basis. What happened last year was unfortunate, yes, but it was also revolutionary! I mean, providing an outlet for split personalities? Come on, it's not their fault the people try to take what they can't have despite the blaring safety warnings. And yeah, I'm a little concerned, but I'm also more than sure that they're doing everything they possibly can to fix the problem as soon as they can."
Politician, Jeffery Knox – "It's a national - international, really, threat. Huge security risk. People all over the world are playing this, this … death trap. How do we know this isn't some elaborate world-wide terrorist attack in the making? Times are changing. Technology is advancing in ways we can't always predict. One flick of a switch and we could have the largest mass slaughter mankind has ever seen. And if they aren't terrorists, what happens when terrorists get their hands on it? What happens if they already have? These crashes? Desperate attempts to flush them out. I'm telling you, it's just a matter of time. This platform needs to be much more heavily regulated – hell if you ask me, it should be shut down altogether."
Momentarily interrupted by the high-pitched ring of the swinging door's bell, the bustling of the café was competing with the volume of the mounted flat screen television, currently showing the news that was taking the world by storm.
"Can you believe this?" the blonde at the register asked, looking to the man in front of her who was browsing the menu above her. Face partially covered by a pair of thinly framed sunglasses, a deep chestnut 5 o'clock shadow, sprinkled with strands of grey, and a denim fitted cap that read "future". The man, brow arched, glanced her way, leaning forward with a soft hum, a gesture for her to repeat herself. "All of these Sanctuary server crashes? Crazy... I play that game all the time."
"Mm," he gruffed, clearing his throat a moment later. "Not much of a gamer."
"Come on, you haven't heard of Sanctuary? Where have you been living, under a rock?" she teased, resting the edge of her palms on the counter and leaning forward.
The man grinned, giving a light shrug as he plunged his hands into the pockets of his black hoodie. "If I say yes, can I get a large black coffee?"
The girl smiled, letting her eyes trail over his facial features – the ones she could see. An angular, flat-edged jaw and a pronounced nose. Unable to see through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, her eyes dropped to his broad shoulders, the mass of his fabric-covered chest, on to his – sunglasses. Eyes darting back to them when noticing his torso dip forward, mockingly stopping her wandering gaze.
"Hold the wandering eyes."
Smirking as she backed away from the counter, she turned towards the line of coffee pots, hiding the heat gradually coming to her cheeks. "Just trying to see what living under a rock looks like …" she countered, her voice trailing.
"And the sass," he added.
Shaking her head as she returned with a large paper cup of straight black coffee, she glanced up to meet his hidden eyes again, his brow still raised, and his grin a little wider.
"You should play sometime… I'm sure the bugs will be fixed soon. My aunt works in the graphics division, says they're working around the clock."
A slight falter in his grin, unnoticed in the time it took him to drop his head. "Hope so. People seem pretty upset about it. How much do I owe you?" he asked with a subtle nod of his head as he took out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans.
"You know … our shop is registered in the game. You should stop by if you ever decide to play."
"Funny. That doesn't sound like a number," the man mused, not looking up from his wallet.
"How does a 10-digit one sound?" the cashier offered, leaning forward again.
"Sounds like an expensive cup of coffee," he scoffed, taking out a twenty, tucking it into the tip jar on the counter, and glancing up at her from beneath his sunglasses, the angle giving her a glimpse of his grey eyes. Pushing his glasses up a moment later and taking his cup as he stuck his wallet back into his back pocket, he offered a grin and a non-wave with his occupied hand. "Have a good one," he said as he turned to walk away, leaving the cashier with a sigh and a prayer that he'd be back.
Heels clacking through the long hall, the CEO, her assistant, and one of two press secretaries at Dream Co. headed towards the lobby of the building.
"Any new cases?" the CEO pressed as the two of them rushed down the hall.
"Not that we're aware of, Ma'am. Our team is continuously combing the game for any additions," her assistant replied, a clipboard and a filled, clamped manila folder firm in her grip.
"They shouldn't be searching for additions, they should be searching for the cause," the CEO snapped.
"Y-Yes, we're –"
"I know, I know," she sighed, her eyes closing as she slowed to a stop, her right hand and press secretary doing the same. Another deep breath.
"Ma'am?" came the secretary's voice, calm and collected.
"I'm sorry. I'm sure you're all just as concerned … We're all trying our best," the CEO apologized, straightening her back, and looking forward to the women before her, who offered a reassuring nod in response. Another deep breath before she restarted her path down the hall. "Eileen, run it by me again."
"Johnson! Johnson!" the mass of reporters called out to Tanya Johnson, CEO, as she stepped up to the podium at the top of the stairs leading to the building's entrance. A team of security was tasked with keeping the mob at bay, at least 10 feet away from the podium at all times. "How do you explain two crashes in a week? Are you any closer to stopping them? What about the neurological consequences? Have there been any studies?" they all shouted, a blur of bellowing altos and wailing sopranos.
"Our teams are working around the clock to clean up the server crashes and continue to bring our customers an enjoyable gaming experience. We're aware of the concern that these technical difficulties present to both players and parents, and we assure you that your safety is our highest priority," Tanya boomed into the mic, her hands at either side of the podium as she looked out into the sea of faces and the pillars of microphones and protest signs.
Her hands gripped the edges of the podium as she fought to keep her focus amongst the flashing lights of cameras and the deafening shouting. Her words had done nothing to quell them. In fact, seeing the face of the CEO seemed to only rile them up more, the crowds pushing against the security in an attempt to get closer as if their proximity meant a better chance at getting the answers that no one had.
"But it's already been months, and they're getting worse! Are you any closer to finding out what's going on? Aren't you worried about what could happen to the players?" A reporter in front bellowed, pushing her mic forward.
"How is the public supposed to feel safe when problems keep arising? What are you going to do to reassure us?" another followed.
"Dream Co. is death! Down with Dream Co.!" a group of protesters shouted continuously in the background.
"Have you thought about shutting the company down? Are there any plans to have higher regulations? Have you been in contact with any government officials to discuss what you're going to do moving forward?" came another.
"As it stands there is no evidence to suggest that the server crashes have had any negative effects on players. We have not discussed further regulations, but, though our servers are secure, we have taken measures to drastically increase our security in the event that this is, in fact, a hacking attempt. We thank our players and supports for sticking with us through these technical difficulties, and we will continue to keep everyone updated as we continue to work to bring you our best. Please direct any follow-up questions and statements to our press secretary. Thank you," Tanya closed before turning from the mic and stepping away from the podium, joining her assistant to head back inside as Eileen took the stage, quieting the roaring crowd that was calling after the CEO.
Brows furrowed as she reentered the building, a frown etched itself into the corners of the CEO's lips, her hands trembling. Feeding off of the energy that was buzzing outside, she couldn't help but feel her heart race, her breathing strain, and her throat tighten.
"Ma'am?" her assistant questioned, noticing her boss' off state as they seemingly darted back down the hall to the elevators.
"Call the board," Tanya ordered in a sharp tone, her index finger jabbing into the up arrow for the elevator when they finally reached it.
"The … All of them?" her assistant practically gawked, her grip on her clipboard and folder tightening in uncertainty. "For … A conference call, Ma'am?" she asked for confirmation as she watched her step through the opening doors.
Most of the meetings Tanya had with the board were through a conference call in her office. The only time the conference room was used was to discuss additions, subtractions, or big problems with the game as it was or would be moving forward, maybe once per season. Day to day check-ins were usually done one on one with the CEO herself over the phone or in some cases, in a conference call.
"No. I want all of them in the conference room first thing tomorrow morning," Tanya clarified as the doors shut between them.
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