Game World

By GianLorenzo Cortese

The robots continued to drag me through doors and corridors, and
I started to panic when I realized that Jan wasnt doing what he was
supposed to do. We went down two floors to the buildings basement.
There were no marble floors or wooden ornamentation down there, only
metal, concrete, and bricks.
I could see the old metal doors of cells as we moved along the
corridors. Faces appeared behind the bars, prisoners made curious by the
arrival of someone new. The basement contained all the cells. It was the
perfect place to hide the ugly side of the Health Agency. The public saw
only the clean, efficient, and caring aspect of the Agency.
One of the robots opened the door of an empty cell, and the other
one pushed me in. I fell on the cold concrete of the floor, and I realized
that I had reached the end. I didnt know what was going on with Jan,
but without his help, Halina and I were lost.
But, as I mentioned before, there are times when life can go one way
or another, and we have no say in which direction it goes. All we can do
is accept fates choice and be its beneficiaries . . . or its victims. Much
later, Jan told me what happened. Or, rather, what he told me made it
GAME WORLD 71
possible to reconstruct what most likely happened. It was probably a fly
that had the honor of deciding whether or not my life would be saved.
Yes, a fly that, in another precinct, in another building, in another room,
was buzzing not far from my friend Jan.
If that little creature had for whatever reason decided to fly elsewhere,
Halina and I would have been dead within the hour. But the fly was
going up and down, with its customary irritating sound, not very far
from Jans fat belly, and it didnt want to go anywhere else.
The cat, sitting on the same belly, was attentively watching the fly,
its eyes following the flys movements. It was waiting for a favorable
opportunity. When such an opportunity arrived, the cat leaped suddenly
to grab the fly. Missing the target, it landed on a vase of flowers located
on a shelf just above the couch where Jan was snoring. Of course the vase
fell, and the water inside the vase poured right onto Jans face. He was
alone and thus not wearing a mantle, and the water rudely awoke the
poor guy from his slumber, like a shocking slap on the face.
After a brief but intense struggle to remember who he was, where he
was, and what he was seeing, the first thing he comprehended was the
meaning of the flashing com on the table in front of him.
Jan jumped to his feet and ran to do what he was supposed to do.
He pushed a switch, and all the magnetic fields of an entire precinct,
the one in which the Health Agency was located, went off. All the door
locks in the building were released, and all the robots in the area stopped
functioning, frozen in place like gigantic broken toys.
The cell doors turned slowly on their hinges and, as if by magic, they
opened in front of the incredulous prisoners eyes.
#
The Abot stiffened in his armchair. What the hell is happening? I
want to know what is going on! He yelled these words at the robots in
the room, but not one of them moved or said anything. He walked up to
the closest robot and yelled again. What are you doing? Do you know I
could destroy you? Speak to me! Obey!
The robot stood in silence. Sardos lips started to shake out of fear. He
walked to the door. He slowly opened it and looked into the hall. There
were motionless robots as far as he could see. Some had been pushed to
the ground. People were running through the corridors. Others were
shouting on the other floors.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 6, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483649108

GianLorenzo Cortese

GianLorenzo Cortese, a gamer who traveled from a distant future to our present, is writing his memoirs. In The Emperor’s Legacy: Book Two of the Game World series, he dives deeper into the future of gaming with all its glamour and danger. GianLorenzo’s future games are as intense and involving as real life. The game engine is a machine capable of creating a virtual world indistinguishable from reality, populated by intelligent, unpredictable, and self-directed characters. GianLorenzo Cortese is also the author of Memoirs of a Gamer from the Future, the fi rst in the Game World series.

Book preview

GAME WORLD

GianLorenzo Cortese

Copyright © 2013 by GianLorenzo Cortese.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 06/04/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

136442

Contents

Foreword

First Level

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

Second Level

1

2

3

Third Level

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

Endnotes

Foreword

From History of Video Games, by Arthur Mackintosh, published in 2090.

Engineers built a game engine capable of inducing a dream, where the induced dream¹ was in fact a video game. The contents of the player’s memory were used to create the game world, producing results unattainable until then, even with the most powerful graphics cards. The characters populating the game world, created by the engine using random, forgotten material from deep within the player’s memory, behaved as real people would. Artificial intelligence and software-programmed actions were abandoned.

There was no need for interfaces. A few external electrodes were connected to the player. The game engine also assigned avatars (which could be many in the case of a multiplayer game), gave the players all necessary information, and broadcasted the game in a compressed format to external viewers so that it could be watched in the fashion of a movie. It managed the languages, updated the game world in real time, and much more.

No more killing zombies or aliens or other enemies with repetitive motions. Video games became real and unpredictable adventures, though there were still specific tasks to be performed and goals to be achieved. The player interacted with intelligent and autonomous entities in the game world and could feel as if the play were lasting for a long time, even days or months, even when the actual absence from the real world was only a couple of hours long.²

There were easy games, and there were difficult ones for expert players. There were also games played publicly and professional players, called gamers, individuals with training obtained in specialized schools. They had to possess specific talents to be accepted in such schools. It was not for everyone.

#

The information above pertains to a future time, a very distant time according to the calendar on my desk. Today, as I am writing these words, is November 2, 2012. But contrary to how it may seem, this is not a work of fiction.

My name is GianLorenzo Cortese, and I had the privilege of being a professional gamer in the future I mentioned, a future that is in fact a distant past to me, filled to the brim with memories of people and places I loved. For reasons that will become clear as I proceed with my account, I traveled backward in time. And now, in this cozy little house in Nutley, in the green land of New Jersey, I am writing an accurate and true report of my memories, which is, for you, a glimpse into a possible future.

A few words were flashing on the screen.

Abilities:

1. Martial arts

2. Meditation

The green level indicators on the right rose until they reached the maximum.

The entire screen went black for a moment.

The Abot is the Absolute Bestower of Truth.

The Six Directives

Aloneness is man’s nature.

Aloneness is the Spirit’s spark.

Aloneness is kindness.

Aloneness must be embraced.

Aloneness must be respected.

Aloneness must be defended.

First Level

The Sensei, in his immaculate black kimono, performed a side kick against an imaginary opponent and froze at the end of the movement. He was standing on one leg, with the other leg straight and high in the air in perfect equilibrium, with no visible effort. His eyes were looking fiercely at the opponent while his arms were bent at the elbows, the left raised, ready to defend.

I was observing the image on the screen with fascination. I knew how difficult it was to perform that movement with such beauty and lightness, like a dance step.

Remember, your spirit, and not your mind, has to have command of your body. Now you try, said the Sensei, standing again on both feet.

#

The collection of interactive videos called Lessons of Martial Arts was the only thing I had kept from college. I had chosen to major in Advanced Game Playing, and those videos were part of the course utilities.

I had dreamed about becoming a professional gamer since I was five, when I saw my first tournament online. The only things left in my memory of that tournament were lots of colors, scary and loud sounds of gamers clashing and people applauding, and a gamer who wore a beautiful shiny black armor. I always remembered the disappointment I felt when that gamer didn’t win. I wanted so much for him to win. That was a first little disillusionment, but it didn’t stop me. A seed was sown in my heart, and in time, the idea of being a professional gamer grew until it became my greatest dream.

When I was sixteen and I chose Advanced Game Playing as my major, I didn’t have any doubts about my future. But at the end of the first year, a harsh sentence was delivered.

We regret to communicate that GianLorenzo Cortese did not achieve the required level of qualification, and for this reason, he is dismissed from the course in Advanced Game Playing.

I locked myself in my room and couldn’t even find the energy to get out of the bed. Endless hours were spent gazing at the nothingness of my existence. I felt like I no longer had a reason to live. But I eventually got tired of doing nothing, and I decided that instead of crying over being a pathetic failure, it was better to do something else and try to be happy.

There was nothing particularly exciting in the list of available careers. Except for professional game players, the jobs assigned to humans required minimal instruction and earned a small fixed salary. Apartment, furniture, clothing, health coverage—all of this was provided for free by the government, and the fixed salary was more than enough to allow a very decent life. I finally chose to become a Cleaner. It was a job that wouldn’t keep me stuck in a constricted space all the time, and that alone was enough to justify my decision.

Over the years, my interest in playing games diminished. I continued to play at the amateurs’ level, but just for fun. I didn’t care if I won or lost.

What did remain in my life was the collection of martial arts videos. First thing every morning, I turned on the video player to follow the Sensei’s lessons. I loved the beauty and elegance of those movements. For me, it was like beginning the day dancing on a cloud.

#

Now, before you go on with the routines of your day, sit down on your mat. The Sensei was at the end of the lesson, and he was speaking in a serene voice. "Calm your breath. Close your eyes and concentrate on reaching the silence within. If you succeed in finding that silence, then the eternal knowledge, the knowing without knowing, will open its doors to your spirit and all of your questions will be answered."

I sat on my meditation rug and closed my eyes. Every lesson ended with a few minutes of meditation, and I found myself immersed in a deep silence where I was at peace with myself and the entire world around me. It was a wonderful and regenerating experience.

#

I became a Cleaner. Not everyone was able to collect dead people’s bodies and bring them to the Burners, and that was pretty much the bulk of the Cleaner’s job, but I didn’t mind it. I was always saying that any job stops being exciting in time and becomes what it is, something that must be done no matter what. It’s what I always said to others. What did I really feel? I don’t know. I just always had a feeling that something great was waiting for me around the corner, that someday I would do something really special, and I was going on more or less happily, day by day, waiting for that something to happen.

#

The doorbell rang.

Coming! I yelled from my bedroom as I buttoned the jacket of my uniform with one hand and stretched a rubber band to contain my hair with the other.

I looked in the mirror one last time. I squared my shoulders in the ironed white uniform with gold buttons, like a proud army officer. Not bad, I said jokingly. At twenty-five, I was muscular and toned, with long straight hair of a dark golden-blond color. I’m not very tall, just about five foot seven, but I am quick and agile, and I always thought that those qualities are not as prevalent in tall people, at least not to the extent that they are in me.

I grabbed my sack and pressed on the side of the thin collar around my neck, my mantle, as it was called. A transparent helmet enclosed my head. Like everyone else, I never went outside my apartment without the mantle. It was an almost-invisible sheet around the head, nearly undetectable, and yet to be without it in the open would have felt like going around naked, or even worse. The mere thought of doing something like that made me shiver. That thin transparent surface felt like an impenetrable shield defending me from the rest of the world.

I had been wearing the mantle, at least in public, since I was four years old, when it was given to me and I was told to wear it. The guardians said that the mantle helped a person sustain aloneness. I did what I was told, but through the years, the mantle became something I truly couldn’t do without, its being a part of me that required no rational explanation.

I ran outside. The white truck of the Cleaner Agency was waiting with its hydrogen engine running. It wasn’t making any noise, not even a vibration. I jumped with ease onto the back of the truck and sat in my place.

Good morning, guys.

The truck’s door closed behind me with a swishing sound, and the vehicle smoothly entered the flow of traffic.

In the front part of the truck was the driver’s cabin, and in the back was another compartment with seats for the four of us, two seats on each side. In the upper part of the truck, hanging over our heads, were the pressured containers. Three other young men in the same uniform were sitting in silence, each one in his seat and with his mantle on. All of them looked like they could have used some sleep. Two were out cold, with their eyes closed, heads resting to the side, mouths semiopen, but the third one was watching me with disapproval.

What’s that look for? I asked, laughing.

You are disgusting, the young man replied while yawning. Every morning is the same story. You jump on this truck like you have springs under your feet. How can you be always so perky? It always seems like you just won the big tournament. Don’t you ever feel tired? Look at the sky, it’s still dark. We should be in bed at this hour.

If you weren’t glued to your machine every night playing games until four o’clock in the morning in the first place, I said, you would save some credits, and secondly, you would feel more energetic. Did you ever think about that possibility?

Where do you come from? Don’t they play games in your century?

Very funny. By the way, are you playing this week in the first game of the spring tournament?

I don’t know. It’s too hard, too many good players. There’s that guy from the third precinct, what’s his name? Mark. He’s too fast for me. And the other one, that Victor, who won everything possible in the city during the last season. I’ll see how I feel, but I don’t know, I’m not sure.

I’m going to play, I said with conviction. I’m not afraid of them. Plus, as they say, the important thing is to participate, not to win.

Bull. Remember, when you get creamed, don’t come to us crying and feeling miserable.

You’re really something! First you don’t like me happy, now you don’t like me depressed. Will you ever be satisfied?

Whatever. The young man closed his eyes with a smirk on his face and went back to sleep. I smiled. These jokes were part of a routine. I liked the people I worked with, and I knew they all liked me too.

I looked through the window. Nothing but shades of gray. It had rained all night, and the sky was still covered with clouds in many overlapping stripes, each of them promising an eternal rain. The sky was rumbling. After a while, the truck made the first stop of the day. We jumped down, and a few moments later, we were in an apartment.

It was a woman, maybe in her late thirties. The rooms reeked of burned parvat. The body was in the kitchen. Her head was leaning on the table, and an arm was stretched toward a still-closed container of pills next to her. Maybe she didn’t have the time or the strength to reach her medication, which would have saved her life.

We were quick and professionally efficient. After one hour, the apartment was empty, except of course for the furniture that came with it, which stayed for the next assignee. By the time we left, everything was disinfected and clean. Even the parvat’s unpleasant smell was a faint hint behind the freshness of the incenses we had used. We couldn’t do better than that. It would take a while for that odor to disappear completely. The parvat was a kind of wax that was burned in a special container. Inhaling its fumes gave a temporary worry-free euphoria, but it always left behind an ugly characteristic odor. That woman had to have consumed industrial quantities of it, judging from the walls’ smell.

We transferred the woman’s body and ten large bags filled with her belongings to the truck’s pressured containers. All of it was going to the Burners. Bodies and objects went together into the furnaces and from there, after cremation, to a machine that separated metal from the rest. The metal was sent to the Recycling Agency, where it was decided what to do with it, while the remainder was further ground to a powder and thrown into an underground river flowing right underneath the Burners.

After the woman, we collected another four bodies in four different districts of the city. It was always the same procedure, though the number of the bags would vary: the younger the person, the larger the number.

One of the bodies was a man just shy of eighty years old. The apartment was almost empty. We found him sitting in an armchair in the living room in front of a window. He died there. He seemed to be resting. His bed was made and neat. It was obvious that he didn’t even use it. On the night table near the bed, there was no light, not a book or a picture, nothing except dust. I imagined the old man in his armchair day and night, gazing at the sky, waiting for something that would come to take all that was left to him, his body and his waiting.

The old man went in the truck’s containers with one bag that was not even packed full. It contained some kitchen stuff, underwear, socks, two pairs of shoes, and the clothes he was wearing.

Despite our efficiency, between the cleaning itself and the time it took to go from one precinct to another, it was already late afternoon. It had been raining on and off all day, but now it was raining hard. We could hear the sound of the heavy rain falling on the truck’s roof. The driver in his cabin looked at the screen on the console to check the schedule. C’mon, guys, one more, and then we go home, he said into the intercom. Within the privacy of our mantles, we all smiled, already sensing the quiet warmth and the dryness of our apartments.

1

Another long ride and we arrived at the location of our last pickup. It was in the suburbs, a little bare area in the south part of the city. A few old buildings had been knocked down to be replaced by new ones in the near future. But the project had been interrupted, and where the old buildings had stood was just an expanse of dirt or, on a rainy day like that one, fields of mud.

The driver parked the truck in front of a twenty-story apartment building. Seen from the street, it seemed to slant against the turbulent sky. The four of us ran through the rain to the building entrance, jumping to avoid puddles. We went up to the first floor, to apartment 111.

The stench in the apartment was unbearable, and we activated the special filters installed in our mantles for such occasions. In the hallway, filled with piles of plastic bags of unknown content, were two doors. One led to the living room and the other