Joel woke up with a great grandmother of all hangovers. His head was throbbing, his body was one big clump of pain, and every squeak of a rusty seesaw some three hundred yards away from his house sent a wave after wave of nausea. It was truly the day the living envied the dead.

Luckily, Drunk Joel was a great guy, and he left a glass full of clean, cold water, just within reach of Suffering Joel. Suffering Joel had to reevaluate his opinion of Drunk Joel when water proved itself to be vodka. Drunk Joel was an ass.

Joel's mouth burned as if he just sipped burning napalm and when he spit out the offending liquid, the spittle was full of both fresh and dried blood. But the real shock was yet to come. Joel almost took another sip of the foul liquid to wash away the burning sensation, but there was something floating at the bottom of the glass.

When Joel's eyes finally focused enough to identify the object, he started puking. His retching lasted for a long time, but finally even the last traces of bitter bile were expelled, and he felt slightly better. By no means was ready to deal with his discovery, but there was a definite lack of other people around, so he would have to face it after all.

The facts were undeniable. There was a severed finger floating in Joel's glass. The appendage has been thoroughly drained of blood beforehand probably to better preserve it. Or to prevent the drink from becoming tainted with red. Drunk Joel was an asshole after all.

Joel was not in a condition permitting any sort of investigative work, but after some time, and an involuntary nap or five he finally concluded that a severed digit and a filthy and bloodied rag tied around his left hand might have something in common. Moreover, after a titanic effort of will, he found a pair of combination pliers and a set of four canines on the side table. The number and type of teeth matched the number and location of bleeding holes in his gums, and he was sure it was connected as well, but every time he finally approached a conclusion the slowly spinning room started bucking like a mechanical bull threatening to throw Joel off the bed.

Some indeterminate time later, the aftereffects of last night subsided enough that he could at least think, although even the very sound of his own thoughts hurt. He might be wrong, but there was only one logical conclusion. Somebody must have broken in, drugged him and cut off his middle finger and pulled out four of his teeth. Everything fit so well. Drugs would explain why he felt so awful, and why he couldn't remember what happened.

Joel had to call the police, but when he attempted to get out of the bed he discovered that his leg was broken. Suddenly he had a vision of a woman, breaking his ankle with a sledgehammer. He somehow knew that she was his biggest fan, and yet there was a certain wrongness to that, and not only due to the fact that he had no fans whatsoever. Not for lack of trying mind you, it was the other band members who sucked.

He only realized that he fell asleep again when the door to his bedroom opened and a young woman burst in. First, she hugged him. Then she kissed him. Then she shouted at him. Then without any warning whatsoever she slapped him and threw something in his face, slamming the door behind her.

Try as he might, Joel's dehydrated and alcohol poisoned brain could not understand what just happened, not even when he finally identified the mysterious object as an engagement ring, so Joel decided to continue with his plan of calling the Police.

There was a crutch leaning against the wall opposite the bed, but Joel didn't trust his body enough to hobble even that short distance, so he started dragging himself across the room.

He made it maybe halfway when the door opened again admitting a trio of young men carrying some heavy-looking cardboard boxes.

"Look man" the obvious leader of the group started "I really didn't think you would do it, so I don't have the money. But I always pay my debts. So here. Those are my stepdads. He spent like ten grand on them. Are we cool?" He added hopefully.

"Yes," croaked Joel but before he managed to say another word the trio left again. To say the truth, he would be cool if the just got him a bucket of cold water. Well, make it two buckets. "we're cool." He finished addressing the closed door.

It seemed, there might be no foul play involved, after all, so Joel took another nap to clear his head.

He awoke with a start, with an elderly gentleman floating in the air above him. There was also a set of green prompts floating to the side of the man.

You are no longer poisoned.

You are missing one digit. -30% to Typing speed. -20% to Attractiveness.

You are missing 4 front teeth. -40% to Attractiveness (May vary per Region).

You suffer from: Broken Leg (left): -50% to Speed

"Good morning, Adam." The floating gentleman smiled warmly "Are you feeling better? You really shouldn't mix prescription painkillers with booze. "

"Yes, thank you. But my name is Joel."

"No, Adam, MY name is Joel, and those" He waved a hand around indicating the surroundings "are my memories. Sort of."

"O… K…?" Joel said trying not to aggravate his hallucination. He would play along as long as it made him feel better.

"I guess you still don't believe me." The man smiled warmly again. "But that was to be expected. After all, this is the very point of this simulation."

"Simulation?"

"Yes, Adam. Your application for a position at the new Dublin HQ of… I almost spilt the beans here. " the man guffawed "Anyway, you already have the job, and this simulation will determine whether you will be the new CEO or a janitor. Oh, don't scoff! A good janitor is more valuable, and would earn more than a mediocre middle manager."

"I didn't…"

"Everybody does. That's the second purpose of this simulation. You will follow in my footsteps, face the same challenges I did, and hopefully, you will learn and understand why I do things the way I do."

"So…" Joel still didn't quite believe the man "I'm to do what? Establish some kind of business, and monopolise the market?"

"Not quite. It does not matter in the slightest whether you win or lose. The only thing that matters is how you play the game."

"Game? And what business should I start."

"Yes, we're using a kind of game to test you. It is a sort of false reality, generated by a computer connected directly into your brain. And I can't tell you that. You are allowed to make your own choices, but unlike in real life, if you make a crucial mistake, you will be allowed to rewind time."

"Can we do that now? It seems I did cut off my own finger."

"Oh, that wasn't a crucial mistake. Betting your rich friends that this hopeless nerd is tougher than them was a solution. One that nobody expected or planned for, but a solution nevertheless. You will just have to live with the consequences."

"So I lost my finger just for a game? Just to get the job?"

"No," the man laughed, and Joel felt somewhat uncomfortable "you still don't understand. This is not your real body. Your real body is safe and sound… elsewhere. And you always lose something to gain something. Do you remember what happened at the start of the challenge?"

"Not at all."

"I remember it clearly. I tried crowd surfing from the stage, but it only works if you have enough of actual fans, so the people just stepped away and I broke my leg. Then Ella threatened to leave me unless I get a job." The original Joel got lost in thought for a while, and Adam waited patiently. "And I couldn't bear losing her. So I sold the band's equipment, and started the business."

"So what did you lose?"

"Four great friends. I made each of them a billionaire in the end, but they never forgave me the theft. Not really. You, on the other hand, will keep the friends, but I don't see how you will get Ella back. You really managed to freak her out."

"So… Any hints you can give me?" Joel asked hopefully.

"A few. First of all, close one eye and try thinking of the word 'menu'."

Joel did so and a prompt appeared in front of him.

Access to the player interface is locked until the end of Challenge Phase One.

"Its no use, the text says the interface is locked, whatever that means."

"Yes, for now. Try it again as soon as you establish what business you want to start. If you make a crucial mistake there, you will be able to revert time. I doubt you would find a way to activate it by yourself without a hint."

"OK."

"Second hint. Even if you got a hall pass from your significant other in the real world they will remember, so if you engage in any 'extracurricular activities' keep it in the simulation."

"Do I have somebody out there?"

"You will regain your memories after Phase One. Your knowledge would skew the results too much, so we had to temporarily block them."

"Anything else you can tell me?"

"This world is not a perfect representation of reality. For one the names and places will seem American to you, but the true nature of this world is an amalgamation of my memories with memories of every single user of this simulation. You will find that we have simplified a lot of things. But I won't spoil the surprise. And for my final advice; however artificial this world may be, you must stay true to yourself. The system is not foolproof, but if you get a position not suited to your personality, you would only make yourself and the people around you miserable. If you get hopelessly stuck after phase one, you will get three summons. You will be able to call upon me or any of your friends or family for advice, but use it wisely, and don't let other people's expectations influence you unduly. And even if you still don't believe me, what is there to lose by playing along?"

"My sanity? But that must've been already gone if I agreed to this form of test."

The man laughed for the last time and vanished, leaving Joel lying on the carpet. He felt well enough to try standing up, but he discovered that his leg was not only broken but both his ankles hurt like hell if he put any kind of pressure on them, so moving was a thing he would do only in dire necessity.

Luckily his friends were there for him. Derek, Art, Luke and Paul would come daily to help him, but as time went on they spent more and more time in the garage practising, so Joel had a lot of time for himself. Which he didn't mind, especially after their last conversation.

Two days earlier they guys came to him after they finished with the chores.

"Hey man, how are you getting on?" Art asked awkwardly.

"I would give myself a perfect four of five stars today," Joel replied, wiggling the fingers of his mauled hand. "What's up? You all look as if your cats died."

"Well…" Art continued, "we were wondering. About the band I mean. Will you be able to play?" He pointed at Joel's hand.

"I guess so. But the real question is whether I still want to play." He sighed deeply. "I have realised something. I suck. So you have my blessing to look for a replacement. Hell, tell whoever replaces me that he can have my Gibson."

"Well, we already have somebody." Interjected Paul, with his typical lack of tact. "He's a great guy, would you like to meet him? He's setting up in the garage right now."

"You bastards! I'm out for what, a week, and you've already replaced me without even asking?" Joel wasn't really that mad at them, but he was afraid of breaching the subject of him leaving for fear of them abandoning him.

Art gave Paul a stink eye and tried to placate Joel, but before he could say anything Paul made the bad situation worse.

"No need to get upset, man. You said it yourself. You suck.

" Goddammit, Paul!" Art nearly slapped the drummer. "I told you not to say a word. Fucking moron!"

"You fucking traitors!" Bellowed Joel, all his frustrations condensing into a dense fury. "Get the fuck out of here!" He threw a bong against the wall, dirty water and ceramic shards showering everybody present.

The band left quickly afterwards, Art and Luke sending Joel apologising looks on their way out.

It was one huge cluster fuck. He knew, he sucked. They knew he sucked. To be honest, Joel knew they let him stay in the band mostly because they could practice in his parent's garage and Joel's old Volkswagen Bus made for an ideal bandwagon. But there were certain rules to observe. You just couldn't throw somebody out, without giving them an opportunity for a graceful exit and still expect to use their pad and ride. Or even to remain friends. Joel would have thrown them out of his home and cut contact, but then he would be left truly alone.

Joel locked the bedroom's door and spent the next couple of hours cleaning up and sulking. The band, as evidenced by the noise coming from the garage, had no such problems. And the new guy was good. More than good, great. Maybe even a visionary, he had to admit begrudgingly. How did a third-rate band even land such a catch? Well, they were third-rate only because of him, weren't they?

Many people could spend days or even years sulking, but after an hour or three, Joel was bored, and his go-to entertainment was currently in the bin. With his injuries, he was cooped up in a small ground-floor guest bedroom in the main house, instead of his usual place above the detached garage, so he had no books or even magazines. And he definitely wasn't leaving for the living room to watch TV and risk meeting the guys. Not yet at least. Maybe not for a few days… weeks.

Bored out of his mind, he decided to check the mysterious boxes which hitherto were piled up in a corner, covered by a pile of dirty clothes.

Inside were things. A small TV spiked Joel's attention, but it was lacking an antenna or even any discernible way to attach one. There were also a couple of things which looked like a kind of typewriter, both of them were lacking any way to insert paper. One of the things had a certain do-it-yourself feel to it, the case was made out of wood, but the other one was obviously made in a factory - moulded plastic a dead giveaway. Both of the things, however, bore the same logo, some kind of fruit with a bite taken out of it, and a brand name of Durian Computers.

As soon as he read it another prompt appeared, but it was just a garbled mess.

@#$$%##$% 4$###$%%% 45%^###$66 $$%$##%% fg5%$$ yh%$$###.

"A computer, huh? I heard of those. But weren't they like, room-sized?" Joel wondered aloud. He would have to ask his dad, next time he called from Europe. Joel was sure his dad told a story about how the company spent thousands of dollars to rent a computer for some engineering calculations, only to prove his father's estimates made by hand were accurate all along. So, not terribly useful things altogether.

But didn't the old man mention something about computers? That piqued Joel's interest, and he decided to investigate further.

He found a cassette deck and some tapes, but when he turned it on, the recording was of some ungodly racket, so he switched it off. Well, maybe he could record some music off the radio later when that one DJ who didn't bother to talk over the music to prevent exactly that, was on the air.

Besides that, in the packaging, there were a couple of plastic boxes with slots on the front, a box full of plastic squares with a hole in the middle, each in its own paper envelope and some cables.

The other box held just one thing. Another computer, but this one was a much larger keyboard and TV screen both housed in a single case. This one was spotting a badge with a proud name of Colorful Computer. There was also an 8-track deck there, alas lacking any tapes. Shame really, because Joel could use some music right now to drown out the sound of the band practising.

And at the very bottom, there were some books. Instruction manuals for all of the equipment.

Joel had nothing better to do so he started reading and found it strangely interesting. He decided to give the second machine a go first, as it was much easier to set up.

It turned on without a hitch, displaying a blank screen with a blinking square in the top-left corner.

Joel found the appropriate page in the book and using only two fingers slowly typed.

10 PRINT "Hello World"

20 GOTO 10

RUN

The screen responded by filling up with row after row of "Hello World".

It was so simple, but for some reason, Joel felt elated, and not even the marvellous guitar solo which began at that very moment could spoil his mood.

He spent hours delving into the wonders of what he learned was BASIC Programming Language, stopping only to grab a quick bite after the guys left without saying goodbye and setting up the other cassette deck to record some music of the radio in the living room.

Finally about 9 a.m. he was ready.

RUN

A text appeared on the screen.

Dragon Hunter

By

Joel

You are your village's last hope. A mighty dragon is about to devour everyone, but you, the son of a mighty hero have last four scrolls capable of defeating the creature hiding behind rocks over there.

Remember to use your wits, as your magic supply is limited.

Press keys 1-2-3-4-5 to aim.

Press any key to start.

He pressed the spacebar, and the screen changed, displaying five black bars, numbered one to five.

Joel pressed 2, and the block with that number vanished. A prompt appeared at the bottom of the screen:

Oh no! You have missed! The dragon is hiding to the right. You have three scrolls left.

Joel pressed the key with number 3. But the dragon wasn't there either.

Oh no! You have missed! The dragon is hiding to the right. You have two scrolls left.

He was left with two scrolls, so he selected 4.

No dragon there. He selected the last block, which vanished, replaced by a capitalised word DRAGON with a number 5 beside it.

Congratulations, you have discovered the dragon. Quick! Kill it before it devours the villagers! You have no scrolls left!

Joel pressed 5 nevertheless.

You are out of scrolls. The dragon devours you. Better luck next time!

Joel was elated! His first game worked. It wasn't much to write home about, but he created it without referring to the manual. It was a shame, that lost in his work he didn't make notes, and next time he would like to play or show off he would have to type everything from memory.

Or maybe there was a way? It would be silly to expect people to type for hours just to play a simple game. Joel leafed through the parts of the manual he omitted fascinated by programming.

"FUCK!!!" He screamed, realising his error. The tapes he overwrote with music were data tapes, and the unpleasant noise was just ones and zeroes converted to sound. But what happened, happened and it was too late to do anything. And besides, he wanted to keep, or 'save' as the manual called it, his game.

He hobbled all the way to his van and retrieved one of the 8-track tapes. Then with his heart aching, he switched the computer off, connected the tape deck, switched it back on and began typing everything back in.

Only when he finally finished did he realise, there were five strange cars cluttering his driveway.

But he would deal with that later. He gave the computer command to record the program, his game to the tape, and when it finished, he switched everything off and back on again.

Then, crossing his fingers, he loaded the game from the tape and ran it, throwing his hands up in the air when it started.

Dragon Hunter

V 2.0

© 1975 Joel

Press any key to continue.

And on the next screen:

You are your village's last hope. A mighty dragon is about to devour everyone, but you, the son of a mighty hero have last few scrolls capable of defeating the creature hiding behind rocks over there.

Select your difficulty level:

Easy - 5 scrolls

Medium - 4 scrolls

Hard - 3 scrolls

Impossible - 2 scrolls

Remember to use your wits, as your magic supply is limited.

Press keys 1-2-3-4-5 to aim.

Press any key to start.

The new version was much improved, as it featured not only difficulty levels, but the dragon would now taunt the player, using some of Joel's favourite quotes from books, movies, and superhero comics.

When he had enough, he switched everything off, carefully removed the label from the cassette which labelled it as Band Practice - March, and replaced it with one that said Dragon Hunter V2.0 for Colorful Computer.

And then several things happened at once. A chime sounded and a prompt appeared in Joel's vision, but this time it had the distinct look of a computer screen with its blocky letters and limited colour palette. But the most important part was the message it displayed.

CONGRATULATIONS: You have finished Phase One of the challenge.

Access to Game Interface unlocked.

Personal memories unlocked.

Without thinking, Joel dismissed the window, but it was replaced almost immediately by another prompt.

You have unlocked a skill: Programming/BASIC: Colorful Computer. Current level 10.

You have unlocked a skill: Hardware knowledge: Colorful Computer. Current level 3.

You have unlocked a skill. Hardware knowledge: Durian 1. Current level 1.

You have unlocked a skill: Hardware knowledge: Durian 2. Current level 1.

But the prompts were not important. Not even the garbled one, which now stated: Attention: The computer systems available in the simulation have been edited both for legal reasons, and to make the excessive list more manageable for the participants. Only systems with significant market share or those presenting a technological breakthrough will be available.

No, the important thing were his memories. Joel really wasn't Joel; his true name was Adam, just as the old man - the true Joel said. And he had a wife and a young daughter whom he realised he dearly missed.

And everything The Original Joel said was true. Adam was a skilled programmer and experienced developer and he did apply for a position with… "Uhhh!" He shouted in frustration, realising certain parts of his memories still weren't available. He could neither remember the name of the company he applied for, nor any of the programming languages he knew, and even his pet project at his current employer was a closed book to him.

At least he could now access the interface and most importantly he understood everything the prompts told him. Nevertheless, he had almost logged out, forfeiting his application, just to see Mary and young Eva again, but he stopped himself at the last moment, remembering the conversation he had with his wife. They would be fine, and the simulation ran much faster than real life so the whole trial would only last about two weeks.

A soft knock on the door startled Adam, and he closed the interface.

"Enter," he said, a tad louder than necessary.

A young man entered, looking more than a bit uncomfortable.

"Hi! My name is Lee, and you must be Adam. I'm the new guy. I… I just wanted to say sorry, and the guys are sorry too. Even Paul. But they are afraid of your reaction." He blurted out.

Adam gave the new guest a long, appraising look before answering. Lee was tall and handsome, and confident enough to apologise when his old friends couldn't muster the courage. And when he realised that the new guy called him by his true name a prompt was quick to explain.

As you will be now in direct competition with other participants, you will be known by your true name to avoid confusion. All the documents and NPC memories have been adjusted to reflect the change.

"Nice to meet you, Lee. I heard you playing last evening. You are good. And tell the guys, no hard feelings. They can use the garage all they need until my parents return. I wasn't even that angry about the band and everything. Just frustrated with everything that happened recently, I guess." He pointed to his leg, still enclosed in plaster, his missing digit and teeth." What I want to say, I need to apologise as well. After all, we all knew that Paul's words should not be taken at their face value. But I'm rambling. So, friends?"

"Friends." Lee smiled and shook Adam's extended hand.

A debt of Honour: Your friends are ashamed by how they replaced you, and how instead of retaliating you allowed them to still use your property. They now feel they all owe you a debt of gratitude.