In the habitat I grew up in, we all anticipated the release of the DIVE (Direct-Input Virtual Experience) pods, incredible machines which would allow the user to completely immerse themselves within whatever scenario was presented to them; living another life in a completely virtual reality. Originally devised for military training because of the realism of the experience given, the Agglomerated Media Corporation quickly acquired it, seeing great potential for its use in the consumer market. Due to the great expense of manufacturing these great bulky machines, a small number were created initially and placed in an area called an “arcade” (a term which I later discovered was from the time when the cities were open to the outside world, specifically the decade 1980).


The first programs released were extremely simplistic by today’s standards, simple adventure games where you would explore a dungeon, fight monsters, and when you reached the end, a dragon’s hoard, the game would end. But back then they felt like something from the future come early, an unbelievable experience. We were all hooked as soon as we first entered, hearing the sounds of skeletons’ bones creaking behind you as you turn to face them, the dripping of water, and the far-off rumbling of the dragon’s slumber. Touching the beautifully rendered dungeon environment, being able to physically interact with everything. When you left the pod it was rather disorienting, as the game world felt so real, it truly was like stepping into another reality.


What followed next was sheer madness. The handful of machines simply couldn’t meet the vastly growing demand for the experience, fights would break out in front of the arcade before opening hours, where lines would form around the block. Seeing that they had hit a veritable gold mine, the AMC swiftly expanded their manufactories and set up more arcades, drawing in more and more of the populace. The AMC wanted to expand their profits even more, and so sent down an order to their VR technology team to create a version of the machine which could be used at home, effectively condensing the entire design. Word of this was leaked, and public enthusiasm built to the point of explosion at release. Even though the machines were extraordinarily expensive, every single unit produced was sold. Crime rates dropped drastically after the introduction of these machines, as people were now spending more of their free time inside the machines and less out looking for trouble. I have always been an early adopter of technology, and this was no exception. Prices per unit dropped as quickly as the crime rates, and soon everyone had a DIVE helmet.


As the popularity of these machines grew, so too did the variety of the games created. Military simulations were created again, but with far more lenient mechanics than the original simulators, and proved to be the most popular of all the genres. Eventually the technology became so widespread that smaller, independent companies cropped up, releasing their own scenarios, and branching into genres that had never been made before (some for good reason). Survival-horror simulations became very popular as well, although I personally never had the courage to play one for more than 15 minutes at a time.


Something new came, a simulation unlike any other, called Minecraft. It was said to have been created by one person, under the name Notch. The original scenario was rather boring, with very little to do, but then something wonderful happened: he kept releasing updates, adding levels of complexity to the game all the time, and slowly the simulation blossomed. This simulation granted its users an ability which very few others had before: near unlimited creative freedom. Within the procedurally generated worlds a person could create anything that they formed within their mind’s eye, they need only have the vision to use the given resources to do so. Together, the players joined to create realms of wonder, heavy-set fortresses sunken into the mountainsides, elegant cathedrals rising from the plains, primitive villages forming in the deserts around pyramidal monuments, massive galleons sailing the waters, stretching far as the eye can see. Spreading tales of these virtual wonders, our numbers grew.


But then something changed. The AMC announced their acquirement of the Minecraft simulation, the updates began to come less and less frequently, and eventually they ceased entirely. But that pales in comparison to what came next: people started to disappear. As we wandered these worlds, our numbers began to dwindle; groups formed in opposition, each pointing the blame upon the others for the disappearance of the players, and conflict covered the lands. Our great creations crumbled into ruin, sinking beneath the earth, or being taken back into the fold of nature within a region devoid of life. And as the wars consumed the worlds, our numbers continued to shrink, not just from one side or the other, but seemingly at random. Nonetheless, the fighting continued, until eventually one group arose stronger than all, and brought unification under its banner. For a time, there was peace, our numbers remained strong, the disappearances ceased, and all was well.


This time of peace was but a temporary reprieve, however. Soon after, the disappearances resumed, occurring more frequently than ever. The illusion of solidarity shattered, but rather than resort to violence, we came together as one to discuss what these disappearances could mean. During the discussion, someone left, saying that they were going to check on the state of the outside world, remembering that it had been seemingly ages since we had left this realm. He never returned, and perhaps now I understand why. The others, fearing what had become of him, and afraid of what might happen should they themselves leave, remained, myself among them. Only now, looking back, do I realize what fools we were. We went our own ways, waiting for news from the outside, but fearing leaving the comfort of our own realms. We lived under this cloud of fear for some time, and slowly the unknown took us, one by one, leaving only one: myself.


For a time I went mad, I must say, and cannot recount what happened within the bounds of that time. All I know is that when my thoughts finally cleared, as I shook the voices and webs from my mind, I was on the bright shores of an unknown land, defenseless, and left with naught but the clothes on my back. I wandered through this land, seeking out others, but found only the beasts and monsters, ghosts of the wars of our past, to greet me. I sheltered within the mountainsides and rebuilt, progressing beyond mere survival and prospering. I erected great monuments, but the grandeur of my surroundings only reminded me that I had none to share them with. I continued like this for many months, and then finally one night I was stricken by an idea: what if the others never returned because the world outside offered them something more than what could be found within our own? I dwelled upon this, and grew obsessed, but something held me back, an intense fear of leaving all that I knew behind. Eventually I realised that should I want to, I could always return to my world, and so my fears were irrational. I mustered my courage and made the plunge, activating the command to leave this world behind and return to that of the outside. My vision went dark, and I panicked, thinking that I was to be stuck in a limbo, devoid of experience, and that this was where all the others had become lost.


At last I remembered the helmet. I tried to reach up, by my arms lacked all strength, dangling limply by my sides, resting upon whatever surface I was on. I gathered my strength with all my will and raised them, pushing the helmet off of my face. A blinding whiteness came, blossoming from the center of my view as I adjusted to seeing with my eyes again. What I saw left me stricken. I looked down and saw my arm, withered and unrecognizable, yet undoubtedly my own, as its motions followed those I commanded. Then I raised my head and took in my surroundings. Dust covered everything, and the apartment looked like no living creature had passes through in decades, which could easily have been true. A machine in the corner caught my eye, strange markings and tubing filled with many unusual colours filling it. The tubes worked their way across the floor and as my eye traced their path I felt the urge to vomit. They all terminated within my stomach, pulsing and squirming with my movements. I clawed my way over to the glass panes of the outside wall and looking out saw a city devoid of life. Every room’s lights darkened, the streets empty under the burning sun, the light tinged gray by the dome above.


Horrified by what I saw, I knew it was too late to change what had happened here. Cursing myself for my weakness, I work my way over to my DIVE helmet, and lift my worthless carcass into my seat. Exhausted by my exertions, I lay there for what feels like a millenium, then try to lift the helm onto my head. My frail arms feel like they will buckle under the weight of the helm, but slowly but surely I lift it up upon my brow. As I lower the visor over my eyes, a light flickers in the distance, but then is gone. I must have imagined it, being the last breathing soul in this lifeless world. I settle within my seat and wait for the helm to initiate its protocols, and drift into sleep.


I awake within my home, and feel the strength restored to my arms. This is my reality, not that horrible nightmare that I had just experienced. Disgusted with myself for being so weak, I resolve to leave this place forever and again start anew. I depart without a second glance backwards, leaving all that I know behind in search of a new frontier. I leave it all behind, knowing that nothing is irreplaceable in this world, and take my first steps toward a new dawn, determined to live out whatever time I have left in peace.