Sir Thaylon, Knight Lieutenant of the Templar House of Midnight Shadows, sat competently atop his massive destrier as it danced impatiently beneath him. A faint smile played along his mouth, twitching the thick blonde moustache obscuring his upper lip. A strikingly large nose rose like a fleshy mountain above that moustache, which had once prompted his best friend Windsor to suggest that he have the visor of his helmet altered for fear that it would never close! The skin around his bright blue eyes crinkled in amusement at the thought, even though it was actually a touchy subject for him out in the real world. Reality! He snorted softly. It was an incongruous thought to be having right now, when everything around him was nothing but a computer simulation - albeit an incredibly realistic one. Thaylon closed his eyes, threw back his head, and drew in a deep breath of air. He could smell the wildflowers blooming in the meadow where he and his horse waited, and there was a hint of the loamy aroma coming from the forest that surrounded it. He could smell the friendly animal odor of his horse and the pleasant scent of the leather saddle and tack. Listening, he heard the birds chirping in the trees all around, while the bees droned busily as they moved from flower to flower collecting pollen. He could feel the solid muscular bulk of the restless animal on which he sat, and the heat from the sun beating down on his heavy armor caused a bead of sweat to trickle down his back. He barked a laugh. Who needs reality when you have Otherverse?

Thaylon heard a low grunting noise, and he opened his eyes to look across the meadow. A massive, heavily muscled orc warrior rode into the meadow astride a giant spiky-haired boar with tusks nearly a foot long. It was a toss up as to which of them bore the most scars. The boar definitely had the bigger tusks, though. Jugga had arrived. The orc’s chalky gray skin, where it was exposed, displayed a veritable tapestry of his past battles. He sported armor equally as heavy as Thaylon’s own, although considerably more battered and stained. The ambitious knight hadn’t really been sure if Jugga would accept his challenge at all. Thaylon, at level 41, was many worrisome levels below the champion PK orc. Jugga actually had little to gain if he defeated the Templar, and would conversely slip somewhat in the ratings if he lost. Still, when the fans are following your vids and someone issues a challenge — especially someone as far down in the ratings as Thaylon — it might appear cowardly to them, and the viewers hated cowards. And besides, a Player Killer champion had to uphold a reputation of being ruthless!

Thaylon took up the lance that had been resting across his saddle and raised it, butt down and point up to the sky. He looked up at the weapon that had cost him more gold than he wanted to think about. Its length was covered in an incomprehensible — to him, at least - scrollwork of glyphs and sigils, all designed to make it harder to break and to help it puncture heavy armor such as that which Jugga wore. His own armor wasn’t all bright and shiny like in the fairy tales either. Instead, it was a heavy, matte-dark iron that had been enchanted to be lighter than normal and harder than tempered steel — which had also cost him a great deal more than he cared to recall. Even his warhorse was the best that could be bought anywhere in the open market. No cuddly white stallion of endearing fables, this — oh no, his “noble steed” was a shit-brown, vile-tempered, mean-spirited animal that loved nothing better than to throw itself into battle, biting and kicking with alarming zest. Even now, the beast began to prance and paw at the ground, snorting and throwing his head as he glared across the glade at his rival. Thaylon had to speak sharply and pull back hard on the reins to keep the horse from charging too soon. He slowly dipped his lance to point forward at his opponent, and watched as Jugga hefted his huge double-bladed axe with a growl in return to signal that he was ready. Thaylon reached up and closed the visor on his helm, restricting his vision to a mere slit, and let the horse have its head. Jugga rolled his shoulders, snarling at the knight, and kneed the boar into a charge, bringing that immense axe up in a two-handed grip. As they closed, Thaylon drove his spurs into the destrier’s sides, sending it surging even faster across the meadow just as Jugga did the same. The knight grit his teeth and couched his lance as the two warriors swiftly approached one another. Thaylon had repeatedly watched Jugga in player killer fights on feed after feed on the ‘net, and he was positive he’d found an exploitable weakness in the orc’s technique. He would find out in just a few more seconds. A feral grin lit his face behind the helmet. Man, this was living! This was so much better than grinding out a life, or subsisting on government handouts out in the real world. In the real world he was insignificant, a grain of sand on an ocean beach. In Otherverse, he was Sir Thaylon, one of the finest upcoming Templars in the Midnight Shadows brotherhood! Here, he determined what his destiny would be! Grinning like a madman now, he adjusted the point of his lance to aim it directly at the orc’s chest. The two thundered towards each other, divots of earth flying up from the pounding hooves of their mounts. Thaylon could feel the powerful muscles of his horse under him, the blood pumping in his veins in anticipation of battle, the wind blasting past his helm. He braced his lance as Jugga raised his axe, and he shouted out his fury and defiance. There would be only one victor, which would be decided right here and now!

“Warning, medical anomaly detected! Initiating emergency shutdown and game dump. Please remain calm. IRCorp emergency service has been notified and personnel are en route.“

Russell Upton, Thaylon’s real-world alter ego, unexpectedly found himself back in his immersion chair. He felt dizzy, and his head was throbbing from the emergency game dump. Disoriented, he couldn’t make sense of what the stern lady’s voice was trying to tell him. He shook his head dazedly and gulped several quick breaths, trying to calm his nerves and gather his wits. He was waiting for the chair to open up and let him out when he heard the voice again.

“Warning! Life threatening cardiac dysrhythmias detected. Initiating emergency cardiopulmonary resuscitation.”

“What the hell?” was all Russell managed to say, before the chair’s internal CPR mode activated. It slammed his chest with heavy heart compressions, while oxygen filled his chair under pressure, forcing him to breathe it in. He nearly passed out from the pain of the chest compressions..

“I’m… unh!... ok!” he managed desperately to wheeze out between the brutal squeezing contractions against his chest. The implacable voice ignored him.

“Warning! Life threatening cardiac dysrhythmias continue. Initiating external defibrillation therapy stage one. Charging to 200 joules... preparing to shock... shock delivered, resuming CPR.”

Russell gasped out a hoarse, voiceless scream as a jolt of electricity slammed into his healthy heart.

“Warning! Life threatening cardiac dysrhythmias continue. Initiating external defibrillation therapy stage two. Charging to 300 joules... preparing to shock... shock delivered, resuming CPR.”

His heart began to fail under the electrical onslaught. He could only gasp in pain and panic as the calm, relentless voice continued.

“Warning! Life threatening cardiac dysrhythmias continue. Initiating external defibrillation therapy stage three. Charging to 360 joules... preparing to shock… shock delivered, resuming CPR.”

Convulsing, Russell’s heart gave out under the final electrical strike.

“Warning! No heartbeat detected. Continuing CPR pending arrival of emergency medical personnel.”

Mr. Ward listened to the final notification from his seat outside the immersion chair with a brief nod of satisfaction. He took one last drag on his clove flavored cigarette before crushing it out in the chamber of a portable ashtray and snapping the lid shut. He stood up and disconnected his “toy,” as he liked to call it, from the immersion chair interface, retracted the optical connector, and tucked the device in the side pocket of his coat. Mr. Ward was a remarkably unremarkable man: average height, average weight, average appearance — average everything. It was an image that he took great pains to cultivate. He could blend into a crowd in an instant. He could change his demeanor with nothing more than a hat and sunglasses and a subtle shift in body language and personality. His speciality was fixing problems for those who could afford his services, and Russell Upton had been a problem that was now fixed. He listened momentarily as the immersion chair began a new round of warnings, this time for the condition that it actually detected instead of what he had convinced it to detect earlier with the help of his handy toy.

“Warning! No heartbeat detected from occupant R. Upton. Initiating cardiopulmonary resuscitation. IRCorp emergency service has been notified and personnel are en route.“

His “toy,” a highly prohibited device that many others would kill to obtain — and many more had died for him to possess — had ensured that there was no record remaining of the earlier false emergency. There was a slight chance that someone might notice the minor discrepancy between the time that the target was ejected from the emulation and the time when the chair’s emergency system actually came online, but he doubted that would happen. Most people weren’t inclined to invest any more effort in a task than was absolutely necessary to get it done, so they could get back to watching 3D vids or playing around in Otherverse. They’d become so accustomed to the constant presence of AI modules that they were content to let an AI handle the unimportant details. Mr. Ward stepped out the front door, and it whispered shut behind him. He’d used his little tool to convince the household AI to let him in when he arrived, and now it would forget that he’d ever been there in the first place. He inhaled a deep breath of cool night air, redolent with all of the familiar smells of the modern world, turned up the collar of his coat, and casually walked the two blocks back to the lot where he’d left his ground car. He surveyed the surrounding area carefully to ensure that no one was showing an unhealthy interest in his presence before he climbed in.

“Rem, secure channel, authorization gamma gamma alpha two seven. Full encryption.”

“Authorization and voice print recognized, Mr. Ward. Secure channel open,” replied Rem, Mr. Ward’s ever-efficient personal AI.

A pleasant male voice came from the cabin’s speakers, interspersed with the odd harmonics that indicated an encrypted feed. “Good to hear from you, Mr. Ward. I assume you were successful?”

“Of course, sir.” Mr. Ward’s own voice bore the gravelly rasp of a long time smoker. “IRCorp personnel will arrive soon, but sadly, they will be too late.”

“Very sad, Mr. Ward, very sad. Such a waste of a young life.” The warm baritone portrayed a mock sense of regret. “In gratitude for your swift and competent resolution, there will be a bonus credited to your private account along with your usual fee. As always, thank you for your help, Mr. Ward,” said the voice.

“My pleasure, sir. Rem, disconnect. Take us home, please.” Mr. Ward sat back comfortably in the luxurious seat as Rem piloted the nondescript, slightly shabby-looking car out into traffic. He smiled to himself and pulled a small case from his inside coat pocket. He removed a clove cigarette — his only real vice — from the case and lit it from a glowing heat element that Rem immediately provided for that purpose. He continued to smile as he inhaled deeply of the sweet, fragrant smoke. He hadn’t lied — it truly was his pleasure. Mr. Ward loved his job. Let those pathetic wannabes play in their little make-believe world and pretend to be sharks, instead of the minnows they truly are! Out here, the real sharks will be waiting.

IRCorp medical personnel arrived at the site, where the house AI opened the door immediately in response to their emergency transponders. They rushed to the immersion chair, where they found the lifeless body of Russell Upton, once known as Sir Thaylon, Knight Lieutenant of the Templar House of Midnight Shadows, one of the best up-and-coming player killers in Otherverse. As they worked feverishly in their vain attempt to revive him, one of the med-techs sniffed curiously at the air. “You smell something weird? It’s like… “ he sniffed again, “... some kind of spice?”