I woke up craving Mongolian beef, crab rangoon drenched in sweet chili sauce, and chocolate ice cream. There was more to it than just a craving; there had been a dream…
As my dream self, I had walked through a vast room full of long tables topped with glass sneeze guards. Each table was its own world of steaming food, ready to be plated and eaten. I had gone from table to table like a bee in a field of flowers.
A short, smiling man rubbed a large knife on a stone. Between them sat a massive slab of beef. After wiping the knife, the man slowly sliced off a portion larger around than my head, slapped it on a plate, and held it out.
I took it, ready to eat my fill.
A young woman with long, shiny hair appeared from nowhere and filled my arms with ice-cold drinks and bowls of steaming soups.
Balancing everything, I took one slow step and then stumbled.
Bowls, glasses, and plates all came down. Glass shattered, and liquid went everywhere…
The dream faded from existence like a ghost passing on to the afterlife, leaving me confused and disoriented. The dream felt like a cruel joke, teasing me with a feast when I couldn't even find water.
I lifted my head from a puddle of drool, wiped the drool from my jaw, and then pushed myself upright.
I was hungry, so incredibly hungry.
Could there have been anything worse?
A thought occurred… Why yes, yes, there could have been.
I sniffed my hand—no smell of bile or sickness.
How long had I been out?
Looking around, I saw my cage's floor, bars, and ceiling now…
I could see!
Unfortunately, there wasn't much to see. Everything was black, except for the stuff closest to me, which were silhouettes of slightly less black.
I looked around, trying to find what had changed.
The worn wooden floor was covered in stains that looked like ink blots.
If I stood with my arms spread, the cage would have been twice as wide and one-and-a-half times as tall.
There still wasn't any light, so I didn't know how I was seeing.
It didn't matter… What mattered was what I wasn't seeing. There still wasn't any food or water.
How was I supposed to live like this? The easy answer was that I couldn't. Death, imprisonment, or escape—those were my only options. I wasn't ready to die or live under someone else's thumb. That left just one choice: escape.
There wasn't going to be an easy way out of this. I didn't have a magic sword, a sledgehammer, lock picks, or even a pin. I was naked.
It was infuriating. I rolled over, punching and kicking the boards… resuming the swaying. Worse, there was now a little bit of back-and-forth spin. My stomach churned.
From somewhere deep down inside me, a dam of rage broke and washed over me. I clawed boards and ripped chunks away. Splinters got under my nails and pierced my skin, the pain just adding to what was pouring out of me.
A large chunk of wood, slick with my blood, broke away and slipped from my fingers into the darkness.
I stopped and watched as the chunk of wood fell. Another smaller piece followed it into the dark. I waited, listening for a sound, but there was nothing. The silence was more unsettling than the fall.
Was this an actual bottomless pit? They couldn't exist, could they?
The floor creaked ominously. It was sobering to realize the now-damaged floor was the only thing between me and the pit. I cautiously crept away from the hole, finding a corner of the cage that didn't feel weak and spongy.
I felt stupid. What had I been thinking? The only answer is that I hadn't been.
What had I learned? Nothing. There had been no way out of his imprisonment in that direction, a fact already known… though momentarily forgotten.
I had nothing but time now.
What had I been expecting? A rope ladder into oblivion? A big slab of meat hung left as a reward? Both would have been stupid.
What did I know? The cage was hanging from something… something long. There was going to be a climb. There'd be no measure of safety with no harness and no clothes to make a harness out of. Falling was a death sentence. It was a death sentence now. There was a difference… Right now, he had no chance of freedom. No matter how slim, if he could climb up, there had to be a chance.
Looking around, I saw that there just wasn't much use. Outside the cage, there was still nothing in any direction. Inside the cage were splinters and a part of a plank as long as my arm. Through the hole in the floor, the hungry darkness waited.
How had I been put in the cage? The bars didn't have a door. I didn't see a way through the floor. That only left one way… the top.
Seeing anything in the darkness was impossible, and the top was too far to reach without jumping… or climbing up the bars. Doing so was uncomfortable and awkward, but I felt a square seam. Pushing on it did nothing; it was stuck solid or locked. Not feeling a lock, I did the only thing I could…
I scratched at the wood, tearing splinters loose.
While I worked, I thought of another way out. I could climb out of the hole, swing over to the edge, and climb the bars to the ceiling. It seemed risky. I'd have to enlarge the hole, and the wood around it was already spongy and ready to give out. It just seemed too dangerous. My stomach was knotted into a cramp. I didn't like the idea at all and dismissed it entirely.
I looked at my hands… hadn't I gotten splinters in the nails when I made the hole? The painful splinters were gone as if they had never been there. My hands were big, meaty green alien things covered in veins. My fingernails were long triangles with a fold down the middle, more like a trowel than a shovel.
Yeah, right! If the trowel was folded to more than a forty-five-degree angle and curved more. These aren't mine; they're the hands of a monster.
When I mentally told my hand to turn over, they turned over. When I clenched them into fists, they did so despite my claws poking my palm. When I told them to reach out and grasp a metal bar, they did that, too. My experiences were proving me wrong.
If these were my hands, why didn't I remember them?
Thinking about things… I couldn't remember what my hands were supposed to look like. I couldn't remember anything before yesterday.
Why don't I remember anything before yesterday
As I contemplated my existence, the sound of slurping and sucking came from above.
The bars were set too narrow for my head to fit through them. The outside edge of my prison ceiling was more than one hand length from the bars. I couldn't see the source.
"Who'dere," I called out, biting my tongue. My voice had come out rough and terrible. The words I had tried to say didn't fit my mouth.
There was no answer. The sounds continued uninterrupted. I ignored them.
My tongue had felt sharp, pointy teeth. I reached up and felt my teeth. They were pointed like inward-curving spikes.
They're not human teeth. I'm not human. Why am I a monster?
A memory came to mind…
Several black shark teeth held in a pink human hand came to mind, another finger moving them about. In my hand's background, there was a sandy beach lit by sunlight. A seagull cried out nearby.
The memory abruptly ended. I wanted more.
Skill unlocked: Investigation.
A video game? Was I playing a video game?
That made sense! How many video games started with an escape?
It made no sense! I could remember playing dozens and maybe hundreds of video games, yet I could also remember never having seen a screen or controller. It was like having deja vu for a secondhand memory. It didn't make sense.
Two words came to mind. I was both eager and scared to say them, but I let the words escape: "Status screen."
Name: Not available. Origin: Not available. Class: Not available. Race: Troll Cursed Halfbreed - Stage 1. Medium humanoid. Strength 14, Dexterity 8, Constitution 14, Intelligence 13, Wisdom 12, Charisma 13. Proficiency Bonus: +2. Skills: Perception +1. Racial traits: Darkvision 30 ft., Keen Smell, Regeneration (Prof. + Con Bonus), Multiattack, Natural Attacks - Bite, Claws. Languages: Common.
"DAMN IT!"
The screen disappeared.
Was I stuck in a video game? What was a video game?
I felt as if I should know the answers, and I pushed myself to recall them. There was so much in the way: hunger, thirst, frustration, anger, pain, and pee. My body came with all these urges and drives distracting and overriding my memories.
I ignored them or tried to, brushing them aside. They didn't matter as much as my memories.
Something changed. Memories of hundreds, thousands of hours of playing video games became unlocked.
"LOGOFF! QUIT! EXIT! MAIN MENU!"
Nothing happened. There had to be a way to get out of this nightmare!
Attempting to leave the game, I imagined removing my VR goggles while going through the associated movements. There was no change. I tried doing the same for a visor, then unstrapping headgear, and finally for exiting a pod. None of it worked. I was still stuck in the same cage and the same body.
Feeling resigned, I said the magic words "status screen" again, this time giving the screen my full attention.
Name: Not available. Origin: Otherworld Gamer. Class: Not available. Race: Troll Cursed Halfbreed - Stage 1. Medium humanoid. Strength 14, Dexterity 10, Constitution 14, Intelligence 13, Wisdom 12, Charisma 13. Feats: Skilled. Proficiency Bonus: +2. Skills: Athletics +4, Investigation +3, Perception +3, Persuasion +3, Video Games +3. Racial traits: Darkvision 30 ft., Keen Smell, Regeneration of Proficiency Bonus + Constitution Bonus per 6 seconds, Multiattack, Natural Attacks - Bite, Claws. Languages: Common.
I noticed the page had grown. Some fields were filled in now, but I hadn't been paying enough attention to know what had changed.
How did I not know my own name? It was… Um… FUCK!
That was worrying. I really didn't know my own name.
DAMN IT!
The name field no longer said 'Not available'… it now blinked 'FUCK!' and I watched as it updated to 'FUCK! DAMN IT!'
I stopped. It was just as good as any other name, wasn't it?
Most certainly not! This slippery half-memory came to mind. I walked into a bar, heard some cheery music and a short tavern wench calling, "FUCK! DAMN IT! Do you want your usual?" as everyone stared at me.
I very carefully thought of backspacing the words away. They disappeared from the name field. I sighed with relief.
Now, I just had to think of a name.
I stared at the blinking cursor for several minutes.
I couldn't think of my name, so I considered other names. I typed John Smith and then deleted it too. Pepperoni Pizza seemed too long, too meaningless, too alien, and I didn't want to be mocked for my initials. "Delete!"
None of the names I considered sounded right, or I didn't like any of them.
Worse yet, I didn't know if I'd ever get the chance to change my name later. Naming myself had an importance and weight that made the decision even harder.
The one thing I was now sure of… was that this damn status screen wasn't going away until I put in a name… a name I didn't know and couldn't think up a replacement for. I don't know how long I stared at that screen with that big blank field, wanting my name, before I fell asleep, but it had been a long time.