LevelUP: an 8-bit novel by Micah Joel. Author's definitive online edition.
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< back | ⬆️ | next >1-6: It’s Dangerous to Go Alone
INVENTORY:
* COIN
* TROPHY 1
* MYSTERIOUS SCROLL
Max tetrises[13] himself into the cramped room. Even with Molly flattened against the wall, the space isn’t wide enough to avoid brushing against Din. She’s cool to the touch. What Max initially thought was a flatscreen turns out to be part of a bigger whole—a glorious high-end laptop that the Muse operates through a remote that she cradles in her palm.
Din clicks to conceal a window before Max can see what’s on it. She fixes her gaze on Max. He feels like she can see through him. The soft hiss of the ventilation system is the only noise for a seeming eternity. The other two muses’ lips move in a silent whisper.
Max glances at Molly. “What’s going on?”
Din speaks: “Thank you. That will be all.”
“What?” Molly says.
“What do you mean, ‘that will be all’?” Max says.
“We appreciate your visit, and we have no need of your services at this time.”
Molly tickles Max’s ear as she leans in to whisper. “They don’t trust you.”
Just when he was starting to feel like he might get a clue about what’s going on, this happens. And for once, the HUD isn’t providing any guidance on what to do. “So that’s it? I give you valuable data, collected at great personal risk, and you just take it and send me away?”
A tiny hint of a smile from Din. “You have spirit. Perhaps even enough.”
“Enough for what?” Max snaps.
“To endure the sacrifice necessary to continue with this discussion.”
“Sacrifice?” Max sputters. Molly puts a hand on his shoulder, and the simple gesture takes him aback. She’s not the comforting type. “I already gave you the last thing I had of value. What more do you want from me?”
Din laughs, the soft sound scarcely louder than breathing. “Oh, you misunderstand. I refer not to a mere transactional token, but rather to the inevitable outcomes entailed by your choice here.”
Max clamps his eyes shut to think. “You’re saying that once I start down the dark path, forever will it dominate my destiny.”
“Well…yes,” Din says. “Except that we are on the opposite side of the dark path.”
“I’ll do it,” Max says. “Wherever that ends up leading me.”
Din clicks to reveal the window she hid earlier.
Even this close, Max squints to read the microscopic text on the screen. He’s never imagined a display could have such resolution. There’s too much going on—too many windows—information overload. But the new window makes sense to him: a terminal. He’s seen Nolan type commands and get immediate responses. He reads:
<LevelUP corporation>[14]
corp:archives:oceo Hemera↑Krapht $
Max gasps. The terminal is logged into an internal LevelUP server, in Hemera’s private space. “What is this?”
“The key to the next trophy,” Din says.
“Sure this isn’t a honeypot?” Molly asks.
“Look closer,” Din says.
Molly and Max rearrange themselves until Molly can just reach the laptop’s keyboard with her good arm. Her fingers fly across the keyboard. She calls up a listing of files. “What’s an oceo? Ohhh. Office of the CEO. Why would she—” Wait, there’s something else. “Hemera’s not big on selfies. So why does she keep a jpeg file in her private sandbox?”
“A photo? Of what?” Max asks.
“Can’t look at a photo in a terminal. Do you have somewhere I can download this file to?” Molly asks.
“No. And all trace of this connection will be destroyed once you log out,” Din says. “There must not be a single thread linking us to this intrusion, once LevelUP learns of it.”
“Maybe it’s a mislabeled text file,” Max says. “How can we be sure it’s an image at all?”
“Points,” Molly says, copying Max’s favorite phrase. “Let me see if it has EXIF.”
“Exif?”
Molly does something else, and a bunch of text streams into the window—line after line of short meaningless words, places in the file where scattered alphabetic characters grouped together. But then:
From the graveyard, go N, W, S, W.
“Why does that sound familiar?” Max asks.
“That’s the way into the graveyard in original Zelda,” Molly says.
“So, we need to find a graveyard? Where?”
“If that means what I think, we won’t have to go far,” Molly says.
“It’s dangerous to go alone,” Din says.
Molly looks at her expectantly. “Take this,” she mouths. Din doesn’t react.
“Take this.” Max checks to see what just chimed into his inventory.
“Medicine, huh. How’s that supposed to work?” Max asks.
“If you get hurt, you can—”
“No, I understand the game mechanic. I’m not a savage,” Max says. He looks at his hands. “But this is the real world. I can’t heal a real would with a virtual potion. Can I?”
“We gotta go. It’s not far,” Molly says.
Not far, in this case, means around the corner, to Room 303 in the same building. Molly punches in the provided access code but stops before entering the last digit. “Something’s not right here,” she says.
“What?” Max asks.
“The screens,” Molly says.
“Well, sure,” Max says. “Just like in the Colossal Cave, or whatever that underground lair deserves to be called.”
“No, that’s different,” Molly says. “The cave’s screens weren’t factory new. They were all models that existed before Damage. The Muses had newly-designed screens.”
“Hey, you brought me here. You’re the one who’s vouched for them. Now all of a sudden you’re suspicious?”
Molly frowns, little wrinkles forming at the top of her nose. “Something feels weird this time.”
“Now it feels weird? What’s so weird about new monitors?” Max asks.
“Because there can’t be new hardware without functioning factories.”
Max makes a gesture for go on…
“Factories are expensive,” Molly says. “If and only if they produce useful things, in sufficient quantity, they turn a profit. You know, capitalism. No good to have a factory producing secret goods in limited quantity.
“Technology factories are complicated. They required computers to keep everything running. Once the computers stopped working, they went offline. So, replace the computers, right? Scavenge up old 286 PCs and Commodore 64s and NES consoles to run the factory again. Easy right? Not so fast. None of the software that controlled the factories ran on ancient hardware. So, rewrite the software, right? Nope. Writing software requires software tools. And none of the software-writing-software ran on ancient hardware. Everything needs to start over.
“By the time that gadgets start appearing again, the reboot is nearly complete. Technology is almost ready for the next leap forward.”
Max hasn’t seen Molly this animated before. “But that’s a good thing, right?” Max asks.
“Not if we don’t know why Damage happened in the first place,” Molly says.
Max knows about the many rumors that continue to spread wildly even to this day. Aliens. Time travelers from the future. Divine intervention. But none of them make as much sense as what Molly’s just said.
Max’s attention snaps back to the moment. Door 303 clicks unlocked, and Molly pushes it open. This space is barely larger than the Muses’ room, albeit with a higher ceiling. It has similarities though: unfinished walls and the cheapest carpet imaginable. On the floor is a NES console, plugged into the wall for power, and twin leads running from the connector ports. But the wires run not to control pads, but to person-sized platforms with guard rails, and long-forgotten VR connectors consisting of bulky goggles and an Ultra Power Glove, something that, up to this moment, Max had heard of only in rumors.
Retro gaming had a huge boom after Damage, though at that point calling it “retro” was stretching the truth. Games and peripherals native to the refurbished technology of the day went through a renaissance. But even through all that, Max had never been well-off enough to play on a full VR rig.
“Brain Attic,” Molly says, a hint of awe in her voice.
Could it be? Once, when Nolan somehow got his hands on a dozen Token Ring network adapters, one of the shadiest characters Max had ever traded with made his way into their camp, and took them off his hands. The payment kept him afloat for a month. Only after-the-fact did Max learn that the buyer was a suspected envoy for the Brain Attic project.
This must be an entrance to Brain Attic, an 8-bit shared reality exclusive to the few folks who could get their hands on the hardware—and entrance fees—necessary to participate. Certainly nobody from the camps had ever played it.
“I love this game,” Molly says, and steps onto the platform.
Wait, what? Molly?
The surface under Molly smoothly scrolls as she takes a step. She carefully slides the headset over her face. She’s blind to the outside world with that on, but still she reaches for the power glove and slides it into place like a practiced movement.
Max follows suit. Even touching this equipment feels dirty, staining his fingers. Everything about Brain Attic goes against what he stands for. Yet here he is.
The headset, upon closer inspection, is more than just goggles. It feels heavy and unbalanced, like it’s about to fall off his face. It’s utterly dark inside. Is there a power switch? The display flickers, a split-second of painful white, followed by decaying scanlines.
Then the world materializes.
footnotes
[13] Research suggests that playing Tetris soon after viewing traumatic material may reduce the number of flashbacks. Nobody told Max this.
[14] http://levelupcorp.online
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