Red Sands Electronics

Commercial District II, Pavonis Mons.

Mars.

1100

200 years in the future, Marcus was glad to find that physical stores still existed. Even with access to online delivery, Marcus preferred every time to walk in a store and feel the product rather than looking at it through a screen. Call him old-fashioned, there was something in being sold to than watching a product advertisement.

Reviews help, but that would require some base knowledge Marcus is extremely lacking.

Red Earth Electronics was the third store Marcus had found and was the biggest so far. From the front looking in, Marcus could barely see the end which was blocked by rows of shelves stacked with electronics.

As he stepped in, the hum from thousands of pedestrians walking through the underground mall quieted down the moment he passed the shop’s threshold. Whether it was through thorough soundproofing or some other technology, Marcus doesn’t know. It would have been useful back then when he was living in New York with the ever present construction going on.

By its namesake, the store was decorated with red-painted and white striped walls with TVs installed high up playing advertisements. Shelves lined the space underneath, making partitions while labels hung above. They were filled with miniaturized accessories and devices. As for what they could be used for, Marcus could only guess.

And it's making him feel old.

Further at the back, where the aisles ended and space opened up, the floor was reserved to showcasing their bulkier products. Even though Marcus was the equivalent of a 200-year-old boomer, he didn’t have to guess whether the massive coffin-sized objects anchored on the floor were the virtual reality pod he was there for.

One caught his interest. Shaped like an egg, it was the size of a large fridge, big enough to fit a man inside. It focused on a minimalist design, tilted on a pedestal with flush panels and construction, a seam lined the longitudinal section of the pod where it opened to a comfortable, form fitting bed.

“Hello, sir. How can I help you?” A voice called to his right, surprising him. “I am Ryphon. How can I help you?” He said, offering a handshake.

“Right.” Marcus muttered, shaking the hand as he calmed himself. “Name’s Marcus. I’m looking into buying one of these VR pods, but the words and numbers written on these specs don’t really mean much to me to be honest. Don’t know which one of these would fit right to what I want.”

“I see.” Ryphon nodded, then pointed to the writings on the pod. “I assure you that all our merchandise are genuine. The specs simply translate to the time you can spend within VR in neural comfort. Although it is known that you can extend your time to eighteen to twenty-four hours with fifteen-minute meditation breaks in between sessions, the human brain can only stay awake for so long, and you would have to pay one way or another. I recommend you stay within the normal parameters, as the techniques I mentioned are only practiced by professional gamers.”

“Okay.” A pro gamer move? Marcus wanted to ask as a joke, but kept it to himself since it would more than likely fall flat. “What would be the normal then?” He asked.

“That would be sixteen hours to make way for eight hours of sleep. It was more to reduce strain on the neural connections than the body.” He said, then looked over at Marcus’ physique and tracksuit. “If you would be interested, we also sell exercise machines in case you are interested?”

Marcus chuckled, “I’m more of a free weights guy. So how about these hour ratings, what makes them more expensive compared to the others?”

“It’s mostly hardware,” He said, gesturing at the open pod. “Here you have better furnishings to make sure your body isn’t put into undue stress inside. Breathable memory foam keeps your body cool while in contact and the vents on the side and cover will supply filtered and conditioned air. These will keep you very comfortable during your sessions and prevent bedsores. And while you’re gaming, the pod will direct current to your muscles, exercising them to prevent muscle atrophy.”

“Reviews say it’s so comfortable, you can sleep in it, but laying on a bed is still leagues better. The other reason for the expense is the computer hardware installed. Most of the processing power is spent on pushing the least amount of mental stress on the brain. Making it that after a long day of gaming, it doesn’t give you that feeling like you just had your brain fogged out. Termed Brain Fog.”

“Creative name.” Marcus muttered sarcastically.

Ryphon nodded. “The effect varies from person to person. A man like you could spend more hours in game with a lower rated pod until forcefully disconnected due to mental fatigue. But with this, it is a guaranteed fourteen hours minimum of playtime. As for safety, it is rated 10 in the human survival metric, which means that you can survive inside the pod for an hour in vacuum, making you virtually safe from the extremely rare cases of decompression.” He looked at Marcus, almost proudly. “So, dear sir. What do you make of it? We also provide a six-month warranty which we could extend to a year for a small fee.”

“No extended warranty for me.” Marcus muttered as he looked at the price. Sighing, the pod would take a large chunk of his rainy day fund until his next government allowance. Not to mention his debt that he had to start paying in a year. He would have been fine to wait a few more decades until the treatment he needed would be much cheaper. But the Martian government disagreed.

It was all because the interest rate in the trust set up for him had been outpaced by inflation. To prevent further debt, it was decided that it would be better to wake people in stasis the moment the cure for their rare diseases has been synthesized, passed, and accredited.

Marcus was one of the last ones. His debt had tallied for around a million Martian Republic Credits, or MRC for short. It was the equivalent income of an upper-middle-class family for ten months, given that they don’t spend it on anything else. For context, Marcus needed around 1,500 to 2,000 MRC per month to keep himself from dying of thirst and starvation, with a half-liter bottle of water costing 1 MRC, and a full meal at a cheap restaurant costing 10 MRC.

With his current stream, Marcus would have to pay for his debts for the rest of his life. Which is why he needed to make money some other way. Free education hadn’t been extended to his case. So with his engineering qualifications a couple hundred years out of date, he had two choices; spend more money in learning trade work where he would likely be employed out in space, or try his luck in being a professional gamer.

He had to take the risk. Even though traveling through space had its appeal, getting shoved into an engine room, or lashing tow cables into asteroids in an EVA suit didn't bring the romance of space. Those jobs were the equivalent of working in a mine, dangerous work for little pay.

Checking his bank balance, Marcus calculated that he could make it. He had lived the college life and had the experience on how to live off cheap food for a long time. Sighing, he turned to the salesman. “I’m guessing delivery and installation are free?”

“Yes sir, installation and delivery is free. If you’re living close by, we could get yours installed and you could already be playing inside your pod this afternoon. Am I right to assume that you’re also taking Aim Down Sights with the unit?”

Marcus spread his arms. “Do I have that written on my forehead?”

“It’s the newest and most sought after game currently.” He shrugged. “Usually, we only have a selection of fantasy games featuring magic and medieval combat. With the ban on virtual games featuring 21st century combat lifted last year, people have been clamoring, even demanding on playing something new. Now, it’s here. It's the hottest thing right now and we could barely keep them on the shelves."

“You can throw that in as a freebie, right?”

Ryphon gave a shy smile. “Perhaps a discount.”

“Alright. Still won’t be taking that extended warranty.”

“Thank you for your patronage.” He smiled, then pulled out a form asking all the relevant details for payment and delivery.

Marcus listed out his address; room 1145, Hab 34, Pavonis Mons residential district II. The delivery would arrive first thing in the morning. He handed him his card and was left alone as the salesman processed his purchase. With nothing else to do while waiting for Ryphon to come back, Marcus walked the aisles, looking at the electronics on display.

A fantasy game trailer featuring wide fantastic expanses and creatures caught Marcus’ attention for a while. It would have been great having these back then, Marcus thought to himself when he noticed something floating on the corner of his eye.

He turned to look. It wasn’t a trick of the light, nor a hallucination, it was the last thing he wanted to meet. A Scion. A super-advanced alien AI inside an indestructible robotic shell.

One of the most important events during Marcus’ cold sleep was the confirmation and arrival of physical aliens. “Why is it that humans find being put into stressful situations fun?” It asked in a flat electronic voice.

The identity of their builders was kept closely guarded. Governments claim that they also do not know, and out of respect for the Scions, will not prod further. There are theories, of course, but they all range from full benevolence to sheer paranoia. Marcus read about some of the stuff until he decided that in the end, it didn’t matter that much to a man like him.

But it mattered a lot to humanity. The Scions brought with them gifts of technology with the promise of further access as long as humanity will strive for peace and cooperation. That, along with their proven indestructibility with the current modern methods, they had easily made themselves pose as Humanity’s big brother. And by law, it is illegal to refuse a question or lie to a Scion. Considering that Marcus had just gotten his life back, he would rather prefer spending all his life in freedom than in jail.

“I just play the games because I like it man, don’t ask me why.” He replied, hoping that the alien machine would find his answer adequate and leave.

“On the contrary, Mr. Marcus Corvo, I’m sure a person hailing before Scion’s arrival would have an enlightening perspective.” The electronic voice replied.

“You ask everyone the same question?”

“On these locations, yes.”

Marcus sighed. “Look. From a person who just got thawed out of the freezer from hundreds of years in the past, I find shooting guns to be fun, both real and virtual. I hope you already know, but back then, I owned a gun myself. A lot of them, actually. I respect the people who defended our country against enemies, both foreign and domestic. These games and systems were just something of science fiction back in my time. It’d be like a knight wannabe right now, wanting to wear armor and ride a horse in VR, so I’d be an idiot to not even try it. Also, I guess the best answer to your question is that it's just a game, there you could do things you wouldn’t do in real life. With very little consequence.”

“Look," Marcus sighed. "You have to keep in mind that I don’t represent my race. That this is just me, but I’d like to try and be in a firefight, at least. But that usually has the risk of getting shot and killed, which I’d rather not happen in real life. So the closest thing I got to getting into one is in VR. Does this answer your question?”

“Yes, and I thank you for your cooperation.”

“Right. Bye.” Marcus replied, turning to leave.

“Another question.”

‘Fuck.’ Marcus thought. He paused his stride and turned back around. “Alright.”

“We are aware of your current situation. Would you like us to offer assistance?”

“No.”

“Another question.”

“The answer is that it’s my problem to solve, not yours. Are you familiar with the phrase, none of your business?”

The scion paused. Marcus looked at the machine as it considered the answer. “There is no other question. Thank you.”

Marcus watched as the ball floated away from him and wondered what kind of technology could defy gravity to the extent of what he was witnessing. The shiny ball containing the Scion simply floated between the shelves, never disturbing the objects on display, as if the Scion looked at the current laws of physics and it simply said, ‘no’.

Someone cleared his throat nearby, and Marcus turned towards the sound. It was Ryphon. He held his card in his hands and gave it back, along with the receipt. “We apologize for the trouble.”

“Not a problem.” Marcus answered, watching as the Scion leave the store and into the sea of people outside. And like a shark inside a school of fishes, people nearby kept their distance while the Scion simply went on unperturbed.

“For the trouble, the management has set up a much preferable payment plan, and we have bumped your priority on the delivery.” Ryphon added.

“Thanks. I’ll make sure to leave your store a high rating.” Marcus nodded.

“No sir. Thank you.” He smiled.

Jewel Park

Pavonis Mons

Mars

0600

The next morning, Marcus jogged through the halls of the Martian underground heading towards the nearby park. The freedom of having to move is just too great that Marcus made it a habit to jog whenever he could.

Back then, he had contracted ALS, a deadly neurological disease that destroyed his muscle control, practically making him a passenger on his own body. He had watched helplessly as his well-toned physique wasted away and could think of nothing else but his impending death. There was no cure, and there was no hope for recovery. He had accepted it back then, only for him to wake up.

The first thing Marcus noticed was that he was no longer connected to a bedside ventilator. Panicked, he fumbled for the nurse call button, only for him to realize that he could breathe easily on his own. He wasn’t in his hospital room. Marcus could tell, since he had inadvertently memorized each detail of his room out of sheer boredom. The lowered ceiling panels he had spent months looking up at were gone, replaced by whitewashed panes that were too clean, even with hospital standards.

His confusion was cleared up when a nurse came and informed him of his situation.

At first, Marcus was ecstatic about the news. He was eager to call his family and tell them, only to be later informed that they were long dead and he had woken far into the future.

Without Marcus knowing, his family had put him into a cryogenic preservation program titled The Millennium Ice, hoping that the future would hold the cure for his disease. They used the money Marcus gave them along with their own money to set up a fund and allow for Marcus’ maintenance along with being able to save up some for a comfortable life.

It was a desperate attempt by his family. Marcus couldn't blame them. He was even fine with their little miscalculation that had Marcus buried in debt. But he couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger. All because that in this future, he is all alone.

Was it a betrayal of trust? Marcus would ask himself. He reasoned and debated to himself as he lay there in treatment. But in the end, it didn’t matter anymore. Day by day, his control over his body returned, he could raise his arm higher when back then when he could only shakily lift his finger.

He used his newly gained motor skills to feed himself with the first solid foods he had in the longest time. He was happy and wanted to share the news to anyone, but there was no one to share it with.

Matilda, the matronly nurse who cared for him, suggested that he make a letter. She helped Marcus make it. His trembling hands made it impossible to write. With tears running down his face, he dictated his thoughts and emotions while Matilda wrote his words on paper. He laid in bed while she was off to the side and out of his view, but Marcus caught her stifling sniffles multiple times as she wrote.

Finished, Marcus asked her for another request. “Matilda. I would like you to take that letter and burn it.”

Running at the third of earth’s gravity was strange. The closes Marcus could describe is it’s was like running underwater. It made it so that the best way to run was to hop. Still, even with the decrease in effort, Arthur’s lungs burned as he neared the Jewel park. His stamina still needed a lot of work. Slowing down to a walk, his labored breathing settled as he passed by other pedestrians walking the same way.

The park was once a canyon chosen to store the machines and materials dropped from space during humanity's first giant leap out of their planet and it's moon. It then started out as the first human habitation on Mars. It quickly grew to be an underground metropolis upon the completion of Titan, the first space elevator in Mars. And as commemoration for its significance in humanity's history, a plaque had been commissioned and a park resembling New York’s central park was built inside. It measured a total area shy of a square mile with groves of trees and artificial ponds and creeks. Populated by critters and waterfowl, it was truly a jewel of Mars.

With sweat staining his brow, Marcus arrived at the park. Children ran screaming full of energy as they chased each other while their parents watched from the park benches. Couples walked by hand in hand as they enjoyed one of the few places on the planet where one could enjoy the relatively open space.

Above, a reinforced glass canopy sealed the canyon from the still dangerous Martian atmosphere. If conditions were right, one could look up and see Titan reaching up far into the sky. It was such a sight that whenever there are reports of clear skies, people would flock to the park and watch as the elevator cars carried its cargo into space.

He was glad that the future didn’t turn out to be like the dystopian novels written in his time. Gone was the dreary and depressing atmosphere presented in those fictions. Where corporations became too large and too powerful to be moderated by their respective governments and instead became a form of oppressive government in itself.

In the end, humanity turned out to be the opposite. Despite the capabilities of humanity to destroy and oppress each other with the hate that spanned thousands of years, humanity settled their differences instead. Maybe the robotic aliens had a hand in it? But the extent of their involvement would have to be debated. As it is likely none other than the highest positions in the governments who would have access to such a piece of information. And if the past was any indication of the present, they would not be keen on sharing it with the public.

Marcus pulled out his phone as his pocket vibrated. Even in this future, phones were still the size of your palm. Even though technology advanced to where one could fit in a fingertip, the question lies on how someone could use something so small. The answer would be physical augmentations, which could have brought a future reminiscent of a cyberpunk genre.

That is, until an incident dubbed the Whitefire crisis occurred. People with implants had their devices compromised due to a computer virus named the Whitefire. Theorized to be the workings of an elite team of Purist hackers, the virus targeted the augmentation’s software and allowed the hackers unlimited access to their victims. Everything the people see and hear, the hackers could also see and hear. There were also speculations about them being able to read the minds of their victims and influence their thoughts to some extent. The scare which followed had the desired effect of the attack, which caused enough of a scare to the populace that it caused the physical technological augmentation sector to crumble into dust.

Marcus unlocked the phone to a text message. It was from the store and it read that the delivery was coming, that he should expect the arrival within the hour, causing him to rush back home to make double checks of his preparations for his VR pod.

With a beep, the door unlocked to a silent and barely furnished apartment. It had a bed, a TV and a small folding chair. Marcus still hadn’t gotten into sprucing the place up since whenever he thought of it, he has something else to do. It had never been that much of a priority, especially now with his current financial situation. His apartment isn’t much, not much at all, but a man can live with even less.

Marcus started preparing his breakfast in the small kitchen. It was one of the main reasons he took this apartment, even though it was an old one, as often the newer ones don’t have any kitchen area. People of the future just preferred to order food from establishments or eat out. The lack of groceries in the area made it difficult for Marcus to even find ingredients for his kitchen. This forced him to resort to finding suppliers themselves and buying morsels compared to what the suppliers were used to dealing with. Still, it was a worthwhile effort to eat something you prepared.

Marcus had just finished a plate of reconstituted scrambled eggs when his doorbell chimed, right on the dot when it was due to be delivered. Looking through the display by the door, two men stood in the hallway wearing overalls bearing the Red Earth Electronic logo. Behind them was a large box strapped on a robotic truck.

“This is a delivery for a man named Marcus Corvo. Can we come in?” The man said through the display.