Above each VR bunk is an amber light. If any of the users trigger an alarm in simulation, a bleeper sounds both down here and upstairs at the desk, and the lights blinks on to indicate who needs assistance. You hear the buzzer but, glancing down the two rows of bunks, you can see no light. Then your eyes fall on the server. The amber light is flashing there. Your parents are in trouble.
It's been four months and there's not been a peep from them so far. When they inserted their minds, they'd given you specific instructions not to meddle in their new lives. As the administrator, you were essentially a god inside the simulations, capable of controlling every aspect of their existence, bestowing upon them infinite wealth, perfect bodies, anything they could possibly desire. As serious gamers and roleplayers, they'd made it clear they didn't want such preferential treatment. They wanted to live the lives the computer randomly selected for them, and any intervention or boon from their Godlike son would serve only to break their immersion.
"No matter how much I might beg you for a vorpal sword of +20 dragon slaying, you're not to give it to me," your dad had stated fiercely, as he'd fitted the neural-ripping headset around his bald cranium. "If we don't earn things within the limits of the game, then it doesn't mean anything." That had been the last thing he'd said to you before he'd become an empty shell and a data file.
If they're asking for your help, it must be serious.
You rush back upstairs, grabbing one of the more trustworthy nerds as he sits flicking through a comic. "Man the desk for me, Mike. I just need to check on the sims. If I'm not back in fifteen minutes, come in after me."
Grabbing the keys for the server room from beneath the desk, you dash back downstairs. A blast of freezing cold air hits you as unlock the sliding glass screen and step into the compartment that contains the server banks. A headset keyed with administrator privileges is plugged into one of them. You fasten it over your head and seat yourself on the floor with your back against the warm metal of the computer. Flicking the visor down, you're transported automatically and immediately to the source of the alarm within the simulation.
Copyright 2000 - 2024 21 x 20 Media All rights reserved. This site is property of 21 x 20 Media
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.63 seconds at 9:35am on May 13, 2024 via server web2.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Get MORE!
Shop Memberships
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
