I shuffled awake, experiencing a clarity I hadn’t experienced since, well, ever. Is this what sobriety felt like? I don’t know if I like it. In fact, I am pretty sure I don’t like it.

Wait, where am I now? I attempted to recall the last few hours, or even the last day, but I was drawing a blank. Whatever had happened, I seemed to have found myself in a therapist's office.

Being one who has spent enough time in therapy, I’d know when I’m in a shrink’s office without a second glance. After a quick sniff of the air, it even smelt like a therapist’s office. The air comprised a mix of leather, tears and “fresh linen” plug in air freshener. Looking down, I realized I am currently wearing what someone might think of as a “paper suit”. In comparison, my new garb was not unlike a hospital gown, save for the fact I had some modicum of dignity left. Oh, and my ass isn’t as cold. Keywords being “as cold”, that and I felt kinda wet. Am I sweating? My hands didn’t feel clammy, but I rubbed them on my paper suit just to be sure.

I noticed that this individual office seemed devoid of the normal trappings. Sure, probably a rather comfortable office, I guess. Some might even call this place cozy. Nothing atypical, just an office with low red shag carpet and wood panel walls. The furniture was quite sparse. There was the couch I now occupied and across from me a matching and apparently also occupied leather high-back chair. The room had obvious design flaws. Notably, it had no windows, no bookshelves and, most out of place, no wall of masturbation. There’s always that one wall where the therapist hangs all their certificates of achievement, degrees and God knows what else they touch themselves to when they stroke their own egos.

Sitting across from me in the high back leather chair, I found a middle-aged, balding man in a decrepit-looking suit. The suit reminded me of an old hunting jacket my grandfather had worn. I think Mom called the thing a Weed Coat? Treed Coat? I can’t remember, ah well.

Baldy, whom I surmised to be a shrink, sat there, showing a slight frown. I suppose my expression must have spoken volumes as he realized my confusion. I wasn’t even sure how I got myself into this situation, not to mention even where I was. Surprisingly, instead of trying to snap me out of my preoccupation, he just sat back in his high back leather chair, steepled his fingers and sighed.

“Uh… Hi?” I muttered, the words sounding more like a question than a greeting. I gathered my courage and in a more confident tone inquired; “Hey uh, I’m not totally sure what happened. Is this some sort of inpatient facility?” Baldie started to answer, but I hastily added, “All I do anymore is smoke weed. I’m sure you don’t need to put me in rehab for that. So, if you could just get my release papers together, I’ll get ready to get out of your hair.” It took me a moment to realize I misspoke and hoped this guy wasn’t sensitive about his follicle issue. At my arguably insensitive comment, the apparent therapist just lifted an eyebrow and gave me an incredulous look. Something that reminded me of the look my mother gave me when I told her that college “just didn’t work with my plans”. Baldie just shook his head and muttered what sounded like “here we go again” in a crusty British accent. Just great, a therapist from the cast of “Uptown Abbey”.

“Excuse me?” I said, summoning my best authoritative tone, while attempting to convey my obvious lucidity. I wasn’t sure what’s going on, but I knew one thing. I sure didn’t need to be in a Care facility! I felt fine, therefore I could obviously be released on my own recognizance to get back home. Based on the situation, I might have a court date or something. Especially since I had no real idea how I got here, but that was something I could figure out later. Right now I just need to go home, roll a fat hog and forget this day ever happened, even if for only a little while.

Baldie finally chose this moment to ask me a question. “Robert Hamish Edwards correct? That is your name, right?” I nodded in confirmation. “Yes, but do I need a lawyer or something? Or are you just going to let me go home? Am I on some kind of psychiatric hold?” “Mr. Edwards, it’s becoming more and more apparent you’re not quite aware of the situation you found yourself in.” Baldie decided this happened to be the perfect moment to draw out my suspense. He delicately pulled out a pair of black plastic framed spectacles before putting them on and speaking again. “How about we start things simple with a quick introduction? Quick being the operative word.”

Baldie produced and started ruffling through a file folder containing some papers that I didn’t even realize he had. I wondered absently how I hadn’t noticed them before. Once he had apparently found the page he was looking for, he spoke again. “Our technicians encountered an unanticipated issue, and you regained consciousness well before our staff were prepared.” At those words I abandoned my state of confusion and headed right for the territory of weirded out. “I became conscious before you were ready?” I think he started to say something else, but I quickly piped in, “what the fuck do you mean by that?” The therapist just nodded and continued as if I hadn’t interrupted them.

“My name is sometimes difficult to pronounce and beyond what is strictly necessary. Let’s just call me Dr. Z., going forward. In my current capacity, I work as a legal representative and intermediary regarding new and prospective clients. Currently, I am working with MetaSoft Incorporated, a Mango company, all rights reserved.” Clearing his throat before he continued, he paused for a brief moment prior to saying. “Before we continue, I am also legally required to remind you that while I am a lawyer, I am not your lawyer.” Okay, so I’m talking to a lawyer from one of the biggest mega-corps in the world. Why sure that made sense! I remember how my old school counselor always told me about the dangerous long-term effects of psychedelics. I must have eaten one too many shrooms and my brain popped. That made more sense than anything else right now.

“Okay, Dr. Z. How can I help you? Do you need me to shave a blue llama or something?” Something in my statement apparently amused Doctor Z. He just smiled even as I stated his moniker using the most sarcastic tone I could muster. “Actually, Robert, or would you mind if I called you Billy? According to the files given to me by your sponsor, you go by Billy, correct?” “Nope, it’s just Robert.” “No problem, Robert. So what’s the last thing you remember?” I attempted to recall even the last few hours, but despite a conscious effort, I drew an absolute blank. Last thing I remembered was making some Ramen noodles, but I’m sure something happened between now and then.

Now wait, I remember a few details. Something about curseday, and waking up to a Dick. And then something happened, but what? After a few moments I finally said, “well I’m not really sure but I guess you’re going to tell me?” “That’s not surprising, all things considered. Robert, I must inform you that you’ve been in a pretty rough car accident.” Dr. Z. went back to rifling through his file folder for a moment before speaking again. “According to our files, a delivery truck that experienced a mechanical failure struck you. Do you remember any of that?” Something about the way he spoke sounded like he was sure of himself, but I felt torn between confusion and panic.

“The fuck are you talking about, dude?” “Robert, I understand. Disbelief is to be expected in this situation. That being said, we are under a bit of a time constraint. If we don’t keep things moving during our session, then we might not be prepared to release you in the window for an optimal experience. If you could please just bear with me while I explain the situation, I believe we’ll find ourselves both better off in the end.” I started wondering to myself if Dr. Z.’s first name is Richard because he was being a real “Dick,” too.

Before I could interrupt him again, Dr. Z. shuffled once again through his papers. This time he spoke in an obvious tone implying “let’s calm down”. “According to your files, someone injured you in a traffic accident.” I once again attempted to interrupt Dr. Z. but he continued, ignoring my stammering attempt to get a word in edgewise. “You came out rather physically unscathed. But despite being in fantastic physical condition, all things considered, you weren’t totally unharmed. Following your initial hospitalization, they discovered a contusion that led to a swelling between your midbrain and cerebellum. Robert, I regret to further distress you, but you have been in a comatose state for almost 8 years.”

Dr. Z. had finally deigned to lift his gaze from his paperwork to look me in the eye as I processed what he said. I suppressed my first inclination to go backhand this idiot for trying to pass off this damn fool story, instead I just started to laugh.

I uttered just a little giggle at first, but before I knew what happened, I had fallen off the couch! I could barely contain my breath between guffaws. “Ha! Good one Doc, this must be some awareness test, right? You’re here to check to see if I have a grasp on reality before I am sent to trial? No fucking wonder they sent a lawyer that also happens to hold a doctorate!” As I righted myself and returned to my seat, I looked over to see Dr. Z. full facepalming. Now that I knew his game, it elated me to see I could get the better of this turkey. Having a therapist questioning their career choice is no new achievement for me, but getting to that point in less than 5 minutes? Definitely a new personal record.

Changing to a markedly exasperated tone, Dr. Z. said, “Robert, you are a unique case. Most of the folks who perform this intake are fully aware of their situation and what will be coming next. As you have been, how would one put it… unexposed to current events for the last 8 years. What is about to transpire might be a bit of a surprise. To be frank, it really doesn’t matter if you believe me or not. From a purely technical perspective, this whole meeting is a courtesy. Legally and medically speaking, you are still in a semi comatose state right now. If it weren’t for the fact that certain Government bodies have urged my employers to have this meeting, I would not be here.” Dr. Z. was now gesturing wildly as if leading a grand orchestra, when he accentuated the following words. “These proceedings have been authorized by your legal caregiver. This is once again a courtesy.” Calming down visibly, Dr. Z. then waved to a door directly behind me, that I somehow hadn’t noticed either. I must not be used to thinking while sober. How am I not noticing any of this? “You can opt out if you so decide by stepping through that door.” I realized then that there was a hint of hopefulness in his voice at that offer.

Something seemed to click all of a sudden. “Wait, if I’m in a comatose state, how am I sitting in your office right now?” “Semi comatose, and this is actually a rendered facsimile of my office. Typically, we would complete this intake process before we began system integration. But you are one of the pilot beta testers for our new program. My employers believe this program could increase the quality of life for a number of persons in your unique situation.” Dr. Z. shifted slightly in his chair before quietly saying, “Robert… I understand this is a shock to you, but you are suffering from what some medical professionals call “locked in” syndrome. After your initial recovery, your higher brain function seems to be working just fine. Someone promptly diagnosed and addressed the hematoma quite quickly, and in fact, there’s no medically known reason for why you didn’t just get up and walk out. Our current working theory is during your accident you may have suffered severe shock. So severe that your brain no longer computes anything beyond unconscious function. Other than a feeding tube, you haven’t needed breathing assistance, for example. In fact, it spared you a number of procedures associated with intubated care. Trust me when I say that’s preferable.” My elation wore away as I processed the words Dr. Z. had stated. This couldn’t be real. “While there is a chance that you could wake up on your own, you have been physically inactive for some time. You may never gain full function of your major or minor motor skills again.”

After what seemed like a painfully long silence, the only words I could muster finally came to my lips “the… fuck?...” Dr. Z. just nodded as if this happened to be a normal response to his pitch. “Robert, I’m sorry to hear about your situation. I truly am. I wish I could give you time to process everything, but we’re bound by a time clock. One that we cannot constrain or delay.” Dr. Z. scooted his chair closer and whispered, as if someone might overhear. “Robert, you are a very lucky guy. An employee of Metasoft Incorporated, a Mango company, has selected you for an exclusive beta test. You will be experiencing a new way to interact with one of our highly popular product lines. The product in question is a simulation called NuLife, released about 6 years ago.” Sitting back and speaking normally once again, he said, “Namely you will be testing the new content, and our unique immersion platform. The integration process has already been initiated. Currently, your consciousness is being synchronized to a model that will act as your NuLife avatar. To put it simply, if you choose to continue then the simulation is what you will be calling home for the foreseeable future.” I stared wide eyed at Dr. Z. as he seemed to give me the briefest moment to process this statement. “Robert, have you ever played video games?” “Video games?... Like ‘Hark the Allegiance’ or ‘Realm of Battletrade?’” Shrugging, I said “nah man, I prefer my storytelling in book form. I occasionally did some video gaming, sure. But most games people recommended were those MMO things, and honestly I am not a big people person. My main hobby is that I go through a lot of books, like a lot of books.”

Dr. Z. just nodded, as if this is what he expected to hear. “Based on the information provided in your profile, I don’t find that surprising.” “What information?” “Limited time, remember? Please don’t interrupt. Now, are you familiar with tabletop games? The ones that use comprehensive books like Spires and Serpents?” I nodded, thinking of when I last played. “Ya man, we played that in prison. It was kinda tough, they banned dice. We kept having to make spinners and stuff using a toothbrush and a drawing of a wheel containing various number denominations.” Dr. Z. smiled at me like a parent to a toddler who had just recited the alphabet. “Good, that will make things much easier. Robert, you’re going to be living as a character in an RPG game style simulation. The simulation you will be inhabiting is even a lot like your game, Swords and Serpents… well, mildly like it… influenced, you could say.”

Suddenly, Dr. Z.’s watch started making a blaring klaxon sound like a fire alarm. His expression went from marked optimism to utter disappointment in a brief second. “Robert… I am sorry, but our time is at an end. I had hoped to have more time to explain your situation and prepare you for your new life. As I said earlier, our timeline is quite abbreviated.” At my look of shock and disbelief, Dr. Z. started to say something else, but I finally got the first word in. “The fuck!? I didn’t sign up for this. What if I don’t want to go live in fucking elf and orc land?!” The office I was sitting in slowly faded into blocky squares which were losing definition and texture. Dr. Z. quickly uttered one last statement as he faded. “You’re in a grey area consent wise, being semi comatose and all. Your integration into the program has been authorized and signed for by your caregiver and power of attorney. You don’t technically have to participate even now, but your other option is…” and then… it was all gone. The couch, Dr. Z. and his chair…. Everything. “My other option is!?” I yelled at the ceiling, as it became obvious I wasn’t going to get an answer. Either because I just couldn’t process this situation anymore or because I was just over it I slumped over and just sat on the floor and watched as the rest of the room began to fade just like Dr. Z. continuing until I suppose I was all that remained. Alone… in darkness. Why the fuck did I try to smoke that bath bomb last year?