When Dylan finally recovered - just as the first group of other hopefuls entered the far end of the room - he was led down another hallway, and into a larger room reminiscent of his office floor. Only instead of cubicles it looked more like hospital rooms, with their interiors shielded from view by curtains. His anxiety spiked to doctor-visit levels immediately, and he wanted to know what was going on behind the curtains. All he could see in the narrow gaps was a four-socket outlet, each socket filled with a thick cord. It made him more anxious, not less. What was happening here?

Ahead of himself, there were a few visible rooms with the curtains still open. It turned out that the first of these was his destination. With the curtain pulled, he had a full view of the room, which looked very much like a doctor’s office. It had the four-socket plug he’d seen, but the plugs were vacant. Whatever equipment was plugged in to the other sectioned-off rooms wasn’t here. Yet.

Inside this room, though, looked exactly like any other doctor’s office. There was one of those padded table thingies with the slide-out steps, a simple office chair, and some cabinets on the back of the room, with a computer on the countertop, with only a paper towel dispenser between it and a simple steel sink. A young woman sat in the chair with a sheaf of papers and a clipboard.

“Hi!” she said cheerfully, standing up as he entered. “I’m Mae, and I’m the first one who gets to welcome you to Project Rundan. Well, hopefully. You aren't Nakala, but I'm guessing that from the name on your test you're Dylan McIver, with the accounting department? Like, Monsoon's accounting?” She gave a broad grin when he nodded. “Well, great! So, let's see." She flipped through some of the pages in the clipboard. "Assuming you accept all the terms, you have strong enough scores in all categories to earn yourself a place in the beta test.” She referenced the clipboard with a wave of her hand. “You got a 351 on problem solving - which puts you in the top fifteen compared to our alpha applicants - with a 220 on mental capacity and an 119 on the physical, well above our target numbers.”

Dylan nodded along, acting like he knew what she was saying. The doctor’s office setting made it easier. It was just like when they told him his blood pressure. 120 over 70? He didn’t know what that meant. He just pretended to be a knowledgeable adult who didn’t need to ask.

“Those scores authorize me to offer you a spot in the launch event, as long as you agree to all of the terms and conditions.”

“Considering that this isn’t the internet and I probably shouldn’t just scroll to the bottom and hit ‘I agree’ without looking, can you give me the broad strokes version? What am I agreeing to?”

“You don’t read those? That’s really ba-aad.” Mae’s voice cracked halfway through and she let out a little cackle, unable to keep a straight face. “Sorry. I can’t help myself there. Yes, I know. But… I can’t tell you anything about the agreement. Not until you sign an NDA.”

“So I’m not bound by anything right now?” Dylan laughed. “I thought there was going to be fine print on the invite that said accepting the invite and coming here was an implicit agreement to not say anything, and probably promise Monsoon my firstborn.”

“That kind of legal agreement is only beneficial if the company wants you to break it,” Mae explained with a smirk. “We actually want this stuff kept under wraps. As much as it can be, anyway. We need you to be aware of the agreement for that to work.” She held out the clipboard. “But I will tell you that by signing this, you agree not to discuss anything that I share with you here now, as well as anything that follows, for a period of five calendar years from today. But signing this doesn’t agree to anything else. You have every ability to leave, go home, and pretend you were never here.”

Five years was a long time. But who was he going to talk to about some contract? Probably no one. Except… “I got into this because my friend Nakala is on the Project Rundan team. Am I allowed to discuss it with her?”

“Unfortunately no.” Mae grimaced. “Even though you’re both bound by similar agreements, and know partial information, her agreement specifically limits her from talking to the public. Yours limits you from speaking about this to anyone besides a legal or medical professional. Even other Monsoon employees.”

Well, shit. There went combining their knowledge to put together all the peices.

The tests he'd taken weren't a lot to go on. But was he really going to walk away right now? “I guess I’m already in this far,” he said, taking the clipboard and pen and signing the document. “If I was going to be afraid of an NDA, I shouldn’t have walked in here in the first place.”

“Alright, and initial there...” Mae pointed to a point halfway up the sheet. She took the clipboard back when he was done. “Perfect. Thanks!” She took the sheet off of the clipboard and started replacing it with another, thicker document. “So, as you’ve no doubt been told in half-truths and inference,” she said, continuing while she worked. “Project Rundan uses the most advanced VR technology on the planet. It’s not a helmet that you’ll strap on for an hour or two. Or even an immersive VR arcade stall that you’ll be plugged into for an afternoon. You will be put in a full-immersion chamber that will preserve your physical body indefinitely, while your mental self is transported to another world.” She looked up at him with a smile. “Figuratively transported, of course.

“This is the reason for the five-year term on the NDA. You'll stay in the system for five years.” She turned the clipboard around, handing it to him. “A major component of this test is to observe the effects of long-term immersion, the efficacy of our body maintenance systems, and the medical and psychological effects of disconnection after long-term immersion.” She cleared her throat. “Basically, we need you to agree to be in the system for a long time, or your participation in the test is pointless. It’s the big bottom line of this agreement.”

“Wow,” Dylan said, scanning the small print on the document. “That sounds scary. What- what happens to my job? My apartment?”

Mae folded her hands carefully in her lap. “Since you work for the company, your job will be held. Your bank will continue to receive your salary via direct deposit, and once you’re done, you will be allowed to return to your position - pending a small readjustment period. As for your existing contracts, investments, and debts… Monsoon will have a limited power of attorney for those five years, explicitly for the purpose of maintaining your possessions and investments. The company will do everythign they can to keep your life in order until your return. I mean, I don't think they'll really keep upping your lease, but they'll give you some sort of place to return.”

Dylan frowned and tried to exclaim some shock, but his voice failed him.

This was scary. Absolutely terrifying. Somehow made worse by Mae's jovial attitude. It reminded him of signing up for his student loans for college. This was life-changing, and not guaranteed to be for the better.

What was worse was the feeling of obligation building in his gut; he felt trapped, as if he had to agree. And he did, to play the game.

That terrifying feeling almost made him want to back out on principle.

“How- what-” Dylan started asking six different questions at once when his vocal cords began to respond to his brain again. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is this legal?"

"I mean, is anything?" Mae gave a sly smile, but it broke when she saw he was still upset. "Okay, real talk? There's no obligation here. Again, you can walk out the door right now and I'll shred your test scores. No computer trail yet." She folded her hands on top of the desk. "But legal? Yeah. Legal enough. The machines have been tested, and lawyers have been involved in all the processes. So many lawyers. But this is one of a kind. Bleeding edge technology. Remember vape pens? How no one knew the effects, and they could be sold - even to kids - without a warning label? And then regulations eventually caught up and they could still be sold as long as they had a big ol' warning sticker on the front? But the testing is still being done. The effects are unknown. This is vape pens. We're innovating. The warning labels here are the many waviers you're going to sign. But there's no regulation or process in place. You want to be part of the beta, this is what you have to do. But, again, you can just go if you want."

Dylan fell silent. He did want to play. Not just for Nakala, although that would certainly tip his hand. But he still felt panicked. Trapped. "Do I have to choose right now?”

Mae took the clipboard from him. “You don’t. You can technically make this choice any time in the next seven days, starting tomorrow. However, there is a timed launch event starting tomorrow morning. The current areas of the game are going to be supplemented with a little… Mini-expansion. Transportation to the new areas is going to be extremely limited; we can’t add a Captain Placeholder to this game. If you miss the boat - literally - you will only have access to the alpha areas of the game until the next one, when the second wave of players get onboarded. There will be plenty to do, but until the launch players get through the event, you won't be traveling to the new area.”

Dylan grimaced. If he didn’t make that cutoff, there would be no point to signing up at all. He wouldn’t be able to help Nakala into the new world if he was experiencing it for the first time alongside her, even if he managed to grind up some levels.

“You can absolutely make your decision whenever,” Mae said, turning and pulling out a pad of index cards out of one of the cabinets. “We don’t want to make you uncomfortable by forcing the issue. But...” She paused to scribble on the card against the clipboard. “This is my cell number. Call me literally the second you make your decision for certain. The countdown for the event has already started for the alpha players, as well as the internal beta participants who are already plugged in. If I can start your legal and medical stuff down the pipeline before around midnight tonight, you can make it in… you know, in time to get on the boat.”

“Yeah. I need to take some time,” Dylan said, accepting the card. The words felt like a lie as soon as he said them. “I’ll call you tonight with my choice.”

“Alright,” Mae said, standing up and shaking his hand again. “Thank you for your time and consideration. But keep in mind: the clock is ticking. Literally.”

Dylan thanked her and followed her directions back the way he’d come to get back to the elevator. He felt like he’d already decided to refuse, and the more space he put between himself and Mae’s pleasant demeanor, that answer solidified in his mind. He loved Monsoon. He’d played their games for decades. He loved working for them. But power of attorney? Putting his literal life in their hands for five years?

He was under no delusions that Monsoon had his best interests at heart first and foremost. No big corporation - no matter how familiar - was his friend.