This was a story that kind of popped in my head as I was thinking about video games and other online social environments, and how they compare to real-world social interactions.
Kenny decided that the paper for his history college class could be put off for a few more hours as he slumped into his computer chair and slid the virtual goggles over his eyes. He fought the cords now dangling from his face to reach the keyboard and mouse. Soon, he clicked his way to the online role-playing group he had joined just last month. A small window appeared, showing a progress bar of various updates and connections that would be necessary for the session. Finally, the “OK” button lit up and Kenny clicked it eagerly.
At once, his goggles flashed white into his eyes and he no longer saw his messy dorm room. Instead, he saw a beach, scorched by a blinding sun. Breezes softly whispered from his headphones. He could almost smell the salty sea, but the olfactory upgrade was too expensive, forcing him to settle with sight and sound.
“Kenwrath!” a voice cried from the right (according to his headphones). Kenny moved his mouse to turn and see a bright-faced girl with long brown hair and a summer dress.
“Cilver!” Kenny said in his microphone, dangling just below his lips. Kenwrath and Cilver were just usernames, of course, but she had been there when he first joined the group and they had become fast friends.
“Whatchya up to?” Cilver asked, her realistic avatar gracefully moving her hair behind an ear, revealing a small red earring.
“Nothing much,” Ken responded, “Where's the rest of the group?”
“I dunno. Maybe because the next group-play is tomorrow, nobody's here.” Ken saw Cilver look around, putting her hands in her pockets, reminding him that he should be typing in gestures. He probably looked like a robot just standing there. He was pretty new to the game and didn't have all the controls down quite yet. Just by looking at her, he could tell she was an expert at it. There were times when he thought Cilver's avatar was a real human being.
“Well, you just wanna hang? The two of us?” Ken offered, actually remembering to use a “shrug” command to seem more human.
Cilver smiled a little. “All right,” she said.
They walked up and down the beach, wandering through various stores, buying virtual drinks and drinking them together. Ken now wished he could afford the taste replicator as well for his orange soda. After a few more in-game hours, the in-game sun began to sink, and everything else dimmed accordingly. Cilver found a small, wooden bench that faced the ocean and sat down, looking believably tired. Ken decided that he didn't known her well enough to sit down next to her, so he remained standing, looking out at the water. He had never seen a real ocean, but this certainly was convincing.
“What do you want to do now?” Ken asked casually. He hoped his avatar looked cool with his hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and sandals, his frame silhouetted by the sunset. Cilver didn't say anything and that made him a little nervous. He quickly glanced at the time in real life and saw that perhaps this would be a good time to log out anyway.
“Tell me a story,” Cilver suddenly said.
“What?” Ken blurted, then remembered that he should turn his head for that kind of comment. It probably seemed unrealistic for him to not look at her immediately. Thankfully, she seemed to be staring at the sky, so maybe she didn't see it.
“Tell me a story,” Cilver repeated.
Ken hesitated a little before speaking. “Not to seem contrary, but isn't that kind of silly? I mean, the reason we even play the game is to be like in our own movie. Isn't this virtual reality supposed to story-telling at its most . . . ultimate . . . or whatever?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Cilver said. She seemed down for some reason and Ken immediately wondered if she thought he was boring.
“Sorry,” Ken said, “I guess I'm not really that interesting to be with.”
“No, it's not that,” Cilver said quickly, showing a dismissive gesture. “I guess I'm just getting tired of the game in general. I mean sure we have fun throwing parties and climbing mountains and stuff, but it's just getting more monotonous the more I play.” She swung her body forward to rest her elbows on her knees.
Ken laughed. “What, would you rather be in one of those stupid fantasy games, killing monsters and collecting treasure or something?” He hoped his gestures looked just as sarcastic.
“No, it's not anything like that,” Cilver said, “It's just that anything we do in the game, even as a group, is stuff we could be doing in the real world. You know, having real fun instead of pretending to have fun in a pretend world. It's kind of childish, don't you think?”
Ken never thought of it that way. He thought about it for a moment (remembering to make his avatar look like he was doing the same) before finally responding. “I don't think so. I mean, I think when the group comes together, we have real fun, even if we're someplace fake, doing fake things. Maybe it's like a game of 'pretend,' but don't real actors do the same sort of thing for movies? And they seem to enjoy it.” Ken saw Cilver nod, her eyes glued to the sand, “In any case, if I hadn't bought the game and joined this group, I never would have met you,” he added, making sure to type in an embarrassed grin.
Cilver finally looked up at him and showed a small, grateful smile. “Thanks,” she said meekly, then she stood up. “I should probably log out,” she added.
“Yeah, I've got things I've been putting off myself,” Ken said. He made his avatar put his hands in his pockets. “I don't have any good stories to tell anyway.”
He heard Cilver laugh. “Sorry for putting on the spot like that,” she said.
“It's all right.”
“Well, then I'll see you tomorrow,” she said, then she winked at him and logged out. He logged out shortly after and pulled the now-sweaty set of goggles from his head. Then he cheered at the ceiling and began pumping his fists in victory, accidentally knocking over a carefully stacked pile of take-out Chinese cartons.
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