“Trapped”

An amethyst sword strikes through the abdomen of a mossy ogre. It howls in pain and falls to the ground before dissolving into white particles, leaving a bag of coins in its absence. A female coated in ivory skin picks up the prize, sheathing her weapon in the scabbard on her hip. She brings the bag to her face, smiles, and puts it in the pocket of her silky, periwinkle coat. Reaching into the fanny pack on her waist, she retrieves a dirty scroll with faded writing. “Defeated eleven out of twelve ogres,” she says to herself and looks up, the quest leaving her under a cloud of confusion. “Where’s the last one?” Her icy blue irises flicker up to the right. She nervously bites her lip and scopes out the area in hopes to locate her final target. 

The light breaking through the thick leaves of the trees illuminates the dark, ominous jungle. Birds whistle to each other, and soon fly deeper into the forest, through twisted branches and razor sharp leaves. Fairies dusted in glitter peek their tiny heads around the sides of trees, watching the female wander around aimlessly. 

The glass doors of a busy, hi-tech arcade open, revealing an astonished woman with an ivory complexion and purple sweatshirt. The rapid-flashing lights illuminate the arcade’s interior.  “I didn’t know this arcade even existed,” she mutters, somewhat ashamed of her naivety considering she has lived in the area for two years. Her eyes land on a shiny arcade machine, dressed in blue and gold. A futuristic headband rests on the top, a wire connecting it to the machine. She’s never seen anything like that before. “Ah, I see you’re interested in our newest addition to the arcade,” a voice says behind her. 

Crunched for time, she begins to quicken her pace before eventually anxiously running around. “No no no, please! I only need one more!” She repeatedly glances up, sweat dripping from her forehead.

The timer in the corner of her vision is aggressively pressing her on, bold red numbers changing rapidly. 

18… 13… 9… 3… 1.

A loud alarm blares in her eardrums and she drops the scroll to cover them. She looks down, and the words on the paper change. “You failed! Try again?” It taunts her with its sly wording. “Ugh! I’ve tried this eleven times! There must be a glitch, I can never find the last one!” The girl yells. For some odd reason, she expected someone to reply to her desperate pleas. 

She flips around and comes face-to-face with a tall man wearing a navy polo and khaki pants. Quickly, she takes a glance at his white name tag. “Jason: Operator #12” it reads. “Uh, yeah. What are they? They look very advanced, technology-wise,” she asks the operator, hoping he can hear her over the loud news report on the televisions. “Haha, yes. They are very advanced and run on batteries that have enough energy to last a decade!” He begins. “These are video game simulation machines, where you can transport yourself into any game of your choice. Would you like to try it out?” She nods. “Alright, follow me.” Jason walks toward a vacant machine, the woman following closely behind.

After she sits down, he begins to recite the instructions. “To begin, put the hypnosis band directly over your forehead. Use the buttons to select a game to experience, and once you do, press the large white button in the middle. Now, you will feel weird and tingly, like your soul is being removed from your body. However, this is a normal feeling; it signals that the machine is working properly. The longest you can play is an hour, and once time is up, I will pull you out of the simulation. You can take the hypnosis band with you after you’re finished. It will save your progress, so you can come back and continue as long as you have it. If you want to be let out of the game before the hour is up, press the button on the back of your left digital hand. That will alert me, and then I will remove your hypnosis band from your forehead. One more thing I should make clear — you can die in the game, but not in real life. Any questions?”

She sighs and looks down at her hand, where a vibrant white button with a door symbol lays. She presses the button and waits a few seconds. Nothing happens. “Just as I thought.”

“Nope, I understand.” The operator smiles and pushes a button on the machine, creating a hologram of a long contract. He hands her a high-tech pen and says, “Sign here before you begin. This ensures that we are not responsible for any injuries, malfunctions, or issues that may occur.” She grabs the pen and is about to sign her name, but pauses and looks over at one of the large television screens across the room. It displays the news, urgent news at that. 

The Soviet Union is pushing closer to her city, but the United States prioritizes entertainment over safety now, which is why arcades and other public places are still open. Ever since the technology breakthrough, the United States has been the most popular country. This piqued the interest of the Soviet Union, who demanded they share their advanced technology with the rest of the world (mainly them). They offered nothing in return – no money, no resources, nothing. The U.S. ignored their request and didn’t think anything of it, which initiated the war they were not prepared for.

Pushing away her thoughts, she signs the contract, which dissolves into thin air once she hands the pen back. She selects a game called “Mystic Mountains” and presses the white button, beginning the simulation. The tingling feeling travels throughout her body, but only for a little while. And she is in.

She looks around the forest, thinking of what to do. She did not want to restart the quest. She can’t beat it. She just wants to leave, but she’s trapped.  “Please let me out…..it’s been two years. I tried out your stupid machine, now let me out.” Tears begin to form in her eyes, threatening to fall off of the edge. “Just let me out! I want to go home! I should have never come to this arcade if I knew I would be trapped!” She screams, but no one hears her cries.

Her body sits there, eyes glued to the screen in front of her. The glowing white hypnosis band rests on her head. Her fingers fly across the buttons, tapping away like an automatic typewriter. The building she resides in has been burnt down; all that remains are the machines. The walls around her have been blown to smithereens. The operator can’t hear her cries; he is no longer there. The machines survived the many explosions from the perpetrators. How her body was not destroyed remains a mystery, but the creators of the machines know the answer. Where they are, no one knows. Soldiers are trying their hardest to push back enemy forces — as they have been for two years — but the majority are dead. The Soviet Union was prepared, but, tragically yet expected, the United States was not. And now she is trapped in the simulation until someone frees her, if someone frees her.