A warm red sky greeted Yang as he pulled on his boots. He kicked at the ashes from last night’s fire to see if it would re-ignite, but the embers were dead out. It had lightly rained during the night, his bedroll was wet, but at least the dust would be down for awhile.
He brushed his horse and then cinched the saddle tight. The horse was a strong tall stallion. Once saddled, the horse stamped on the ground with his hoof, impatient to get going, ready to run.
Yang, however, was in no hurry, but knew from experience that a player would be connecting soon. The sun rising in China meant the sun was setting on the other side of the globe, and the players would be finishing their day at work and looking for some fun and adventure.
He adjusted the interface device on his head and attached the tactile pressure sensors against the skin of his back, arms, and legs, and then finally the tiny pressure sensors along his hands and fingers. Next, he donned the thin squib jacket with its multitude of explosive blood pouches. As he dressed, he watched a flock of black birds flying low over the blue-black fields. Against the yellow sky he could see the silhouette of a bird of prey circling, looking for breakfast.
Yang breathed deeply. The air smelled clean. So much cleaner since the plastic brush factory was bought and shut down by the RSI Games Company. The smog that hung like a fog about his small town lifted and now clean winds swept across the landscape with smells of grass and rice and horse.
Next Yang dressed in his outlaw uniform. He wore a black shirt, dusty and sweat stained. He tied a faded bandana loosely around the neck. He buckled his belt around his thin waist and then the holster. He wore his holster low, below his hips.
Yang scratched at the singular whiskers protruding from his chin and cheeks. At only nineteen years of age, Yang had a few thick black whiskers that he only shaved when he was not inside the game. Yang thought that the thin beard contributed to his outlaw persona.
Finally, he set his oversized cowboy hat on the top of the interface device and pulled down on the brim so as to cover the device from view. The cowboys at Wild West Alive, all looked a little strange in their oversized hats.
The smell of hard wood burning joined with the other scents that drifted up to Yang on the morning breeze. From his vantage at the top of a rise, he could look out across the valley and into the town of Squabash. In the first light of morning, he could see tendrils of gray smoke rising from the black chimneys that protruded from the flat timber roofs of the town. Squabash was the manufactured western town built by RSI Gaming. Squabash is the center of action for the players, now also the home to many of Yang’s fellow hosts. All of the hosts in Squabash were required to wear an interface device, but not everyone would get players who were interested in controlling them remotely. The barber and the blacksmith would often get several days in a row without any player bothering to take control of their bodies.
Yang knew that the smell of smoke from Squabash meant that the denizens were cooking hot food, and this thought made his mouth water. All he had to eat was a dry breakfast. He swallowed a bite of hard bread and then a bite of dried salted beef. The food was cold, but the sun was up now and began to warm him from the outside. He had to hurry now because the players were probably already waiting for him.
Once he finished loading the leftover food and his bedroll into the saddle bags, he checked the action on his rifle and made sure it was loaded. Next, he pulled his six gun from the holster, opened the cylinder, and made sure it was clean and loaded as well. He fetched some fresh bullets and pushed them into the empty loops on his holster. The bullets loaded into the guns and on his holster loops were real bullets, but the lead had been replaced with a dense rubber. The bullets were strong enough to burst the blood packets on the squib vest that he wore beneath his clothes. When struck, the squib vest triggered a small explosion which opened the clothes and sent blood spurting out of the simulated wound. When this happened the hosts were trained to pretend they were shot and this combination of acting and specials effects were sufficient to create a realistic wild west gaming environment. When fired at close range, the rubber bullets left a nasty bruise on the skin.
He was ready. From his shirt pocket, Yang retrieved a small packet with a round yellow pill. He swallowed it with a long pull on his canteen. Then put the canteen around the saddle horn.
He looked out across the valley. Yang admired colors of the fields that were turning from dark to gold and green in the new light. He watched as the sky turned from yellow to blue. He breathed deeply. Slowly. Allowing his heart rate to slow. He was entering into a hypnotic state. In his mind’s eye he was leaving his body. The mental image of himself rose up and drifted above his body which stood gazing out over the fields below.
He was with the blackbirds now, riding upon the warm up currents of air. Drifting and dancing, spinning in circles and climbing higher into the crisp morning air. Below him he watched as his now semi-conscious body lifted his right arm to find the Interface device on his head. There was a switch located behind his right ear. He pressed it and he was on.
The player immediately connected. Yang was not surprised. Yang’s outlaw persona, Eli, was a popular character in a popular game. There were plenty of gunslingers in Squabash, but some were more popular than others. The player controlled the gunman remotely, but reflexes and physical ability were still ingrained into the body. Experienced players knew that successful adventures required a symbiotic bond between player and host. Yang was gaining in popularity and that meant he was worth more, and would earn more as players bid for control of his body. It also meant other players would be gunning for him. If another less popular player could beat him in a gunfight they would take a shortcut to popularity and earn more for themselves. At Wild West Alive, reputation among the players directly translated into how much you were paid.
Yang and the other hosts could also earn money by attracting viewers. Only one player at a time could remotely manipulate Yang’s body, but there was no limit to the players that could participate as passive viewers. Being a viewer at Wild West Alive was pure voyeurism. The viewer could watch, hear, smell, taste, and touch along with the player, but only the player could manipulate the actions of the host. Attracting viewers meant you were earning money from multiple players simultaneously. However, to achieve this required a high reputation. Viewers would not stay long if the action was not worth watching.
Now Yang was a semi-conscious observer of his body. In his meditative state, he was aware of the player’s actions, but remained only a passive observer. Sometimes, if the player was having trouble, Yang could assist in the action.
The player started his manipulation of Yang’s body by looking around the campsite. The player looked out across the vista of fields and meadows that Yang had looked at moments before, but with none of the same appreciation. The player was looking for adventure and orienting himself, he did not care about the color of the fields or the delicate flight of blackbirds upon the warm morning breeze. The player walked Yang around the dead campfire to confirm the controls were working properly. He practiced a quick-draw and then opened the cylinder on the six-gun to ensure that it was loaded.
Next, he pulled a thin black cigarillo from a pouch in the saddlebag together with a book of matches. He put the cigarillo between his teeth, struck a match and started puffing. Yang hated this rough smoke. It hurt his eyes and made his throat dry. Players rarely stopped to drink water as feelings of thirst or pain were not transmitted by the device.
Yang had gotten used to enduring the saddle sores on his backside and the burn of whiskey on the back of his throat. His knuckles were calloused from bar fights. But Yang could not acquire a taste for these thin black cigarettes. The player did not know Yang or what he liked. To the player, Yang was Elijah, better known as Eli. Eli was an outlaw who drank strong whiskey and fought gunfights in the street. Eli liked to smoke rough tobacco, and the player wanted to taste that smoke.
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Now the player waited. Yang also waited wondering what adventure the player would pursue. Soon they heard horse hooves climbing to the top of the rise. The player did not draw a weapon, so Yang new that this was a pre-arranged meeting. He also realized with dread that they were planning on going after the morning stagecoach. Robbing the stagecoach is a dangerous adventure.
The bullets are rubber and the bullet wounds are really on micro explosions that splatter fake blood from the squib vest worn under his clothes. But the stagecoach is quite real. Jumping from a running horse to a moving stagecoach is a dangerous stunt.
Yang knew men from his village who had been crushed by the wheels of the stagecoach. They would never work as a host again. Mangled arms or ruined legs. The RSI Game Company kept these handicapped ex-outlaws employed. They were back at the factory spending their days sewing up ripped costumes or replacing the lead bullets with rubber slugs.
Two riders crested the ridge. Eli recognized Sam and Gus. They both wore dusty cowboy costumes and both were wearing an interface device protruding from oversized cowboy hats.
Gus reined in his horse and said,“Howdy Eli.”
Eli touched his hat, “Gus.”
In their real lives, or their lives before RSI Gaming Company purchased the plastic brush factory and employed almost everyone in their village, Gus was Yang’s cousin. They knew each other quite well. But they were trained to speak in short terse sentences in order to improve the illusion that they were tough outlaws.
Players could speak to each other through the hosts by simply speaking into their remote interfaces or synaptic suits. If a player spoke, the host was trained to simply repeat what was said, word for word. At the same time, hosts could speak to each other, but the hosts were trained to keep their independent conversations at a minimum and relevant to the situation.
“Any sign of Injuns?” Yang asked his cousin.
Yang was not asking about Indians. Like many hosts at RSI Gaming they used code words to communicate news and information from their village, which was only six miles east of Squabash. Yang, however, and the others were completely cut-off from communication while working as a host.
By asking about Indians, he was asking about his family. Yang’s mother and little sister lived alone in the village. When he got time off from his job as an outlaw he would go and stay with them. Yang had been serving as a host inside the game for weeks without a break. He was anxious for news about his family.
Gus replied, “Two days ago, I saw smoke signals.” He pointed roughly to the east, towards home. Smoke signals were good news. This meant he had seen Yang’s family and all was well. Yang nodded in understanding and flashed a grateful grin at his cousin.
Yang worried about his little sister, Liang. Liang was turning fifteen next month and was growing more beautiful every day. He did not want to see her working as a host in the Squabash saloon or worse. Yang was determined to earn enough money as Eli the outlaw to pay for her to get away, maybe even go to a University. When he was “Off” he would return to their small house like a hero. Liang would follow him wherever he walked. She was proud of her big brother who was becoming famous and making money inside the game. Yang would hold her small hand in his rough hand and tell her stories of gunfights and bank robberies as they promenaded about the village market.
Everything in Yang’s plan depended on his popularity. Yang got paid based on how much players were willing to play as “Eli” the outlaw. The players who only viewed the action paid less, but they were unlimited. If Yang could attract a player who was controlling the action, and 10 or more observers, he would net a very good payday. Lately Yang had been doing well. His popularity was on the rise. Robbing the stagecoach and other dangerous stunts are the best way to grow a reputation with the players.
“I see dust on the road,” Sam piped up.
“You boys ready for this?” Eli asked as he clambered into his saddle, pulling on the reins to wheel the horse about.
“Ready,” Gus said.
“Let’s go,” Sam said.
There was no way for Yang to know if his cousin was speaking or if he was merely parroting the enthusiastic response from the remote player. Either way, he was committed to the adventure. Yang felt his legs contract and spur the tall horse to begin cantering down the rise.
“I will make the jump,” Eli cried over the growing sounds of horse hooves. No one argued, and so it was decided.
The three cowboys began trotting down the rise. They had all robbed the morning stage before. They knew what to do.
“Any sign of the Marshal?” Eli asked loudly over the sounds of horse and hoof.
“Have not heard or seen him for days,” Gus replied.
This was good news. Hopefully the Marshal was “Off” taking a long break back at the home village. Yang knew the Marshal from when they were boys. His real name was Chin. Everyone called him Tommy Chin. But, since he was appointed Marshal in the Wild West game, he insisted that everyone called him by his new western name which was Marshal Dirk Redburn, or just “Marshal.”
Tommy Chin was a bully when they were growing up. He had a mean streak that continued after they were working at the plastic brush factory. Tommy Chin brought his natural mean streak into his Wild West Alive persona and this had propelled his popularity with the players. His mean streak served him well at Wild West Alive. His natural bullying brought him popularity and got him the highly coveted role as Marshal of Squabash. The Marshal was guaranteed a control player and many viewers every day. Tommy Chin was making good money.
When Yang and Tommy Chin were working together at the brush factory, Tommy Chin had been appointed to a job with minor responsibilities as an Assistant Shift Manager. There was a pretty girl he harassed. Her name was Angie.
Tommy Chin harassed her at the brush factory and eventually he was reprimanded by the management. Now Angie was working at Wild West Alive like all of the young brush factory employees. Angie had the role of a saloon girl named “Sadie,” and Marshal Redburn had extracted revenge upon her many times over.
Like many of the other young women from the village that worked in Wild West Alive as hosts, they were never “Off”. They never left the game. It was never openly discussed among the hosts and certainly not dealt with by RSI Gaming Company. The female hosts at Squabash felt ashamed of the roles they played in the simulated western town. While the role of outlaw afforded Yang some admiration in the village, for a girl like Angie, playing the role of Saloon girl had the opposite effect on her reputation.
While the young men returned to their villages and proudly boasted about gun fights and bank robberies, the young women were not proud of the activities the players made them do when the players were in control of their bodies. Instead of taking time off from the game and facing their friend and families back in the village, they preferred to stay in Squabash and forward their paychecks to their families. The simulated Wild West world built by RSI Gaming Company had become their only reality.
When RSI recruited them they said it would be like play-acting.
“Put on a good show,” the recruiter said, “You will make good money and have fun at the same time.”
The bullets were rubber, the hosts were trained to fight like stunt-men in the movies, and the romance was supposed to be simulated. It was possible to make good money, this was true, but for a young girl like Sadie, working as a Saloon girl was not fun.
Tommy Chin was one host who consistently took it too far. Once the game went online, it was clear to all the hosts that the players had a keen interest in real violence. The more real the better. Tommy Chin had become the Marshal by gaining a consistently high popularity with the players. Tommy’s natural mean streak made him popular among the players. His abuse of the Saloon girls and the other weaker hosts inside the town of Squabash was legendary among the players.
The horses were running now. The st
agecoach driver had spotted them and whipped the team of horses into a run. The guard sitting next to the driver started to fire his repeating rifle. At this range, the rubber bullets were completely ineffective. Yang knew it, but the player controlling his guard was having a good time firing shot after shot.
Yang could feel his own player start to join in. The player used Yang’s legs to spur the big horse to a faster pace. He tossed the cigarillo to the ground and signaled to Sam and Gus to increase their speed. The outlaws fanned out on either side of the stagecoach. They drew their six-guns and started shooting.
Yang’s player directed the horse directly behind the stagecoach. It was safe from bullets, but they were being pelted by pebbles tossed up by the stagecoach wheels and the dust was unbearable. Luckily for Yang, the horse would have none of it and they emerged from the dust cloud and rode up alongside the Stagecoach on the driver’s side.
Yang felt the player draw his gun and then aim directly at the driver. Yang felt the tell-tale pressure on his index finger and he fired. They missed. Yang knew they would miss. Rubber bullets are lighter than lead and more easily influenced by wind.
At this speed, the player would need to shoot in front of the driver in order to score a hit. Yang realized he had an inexperienced player controlling him and this made him nervous about the upcoming jump he would need to make onto the stage coach.
But that would come later. Right now, Yang needed to help his player shoot at the driver. Yang consciously re-adjusted the aim of the player up and to the left so he was leading the driver. Now, he waited for the signal from the player to pull the trigger. He did not wait long. He felt the pressure return to his index finger from the pressure sensor, and his hand reflexively pulled the trigger, once, twice, three times in rapid succession.
The squib vest that the driver wore under his cowboy outfit exploded with fake blood and gore as the rubber bullets made contact. The driver expertly leaped off the stagecoach to complete the death act by writhing on the dusty ground for a while. Eventually, after the noise of the stage coach faded, the driver would discretely get up and make his way back to his starting position. If he hurried, he could get cleaned up and reset his squib vest in time to drive the afternoon stage. Like all the hosts, the driver could earn additional popularity by fighting off another gang of robbers in the afternoon.
The stagecoach was running wild now. Sam had shot down the guard as planned and Gus was in his position next to the lead horse to keep the stage coach running straight and steady. Yang stood up in his stirrups, ready to make the jump. He focused on the hand-rail next to the driver’s seat. He could almost reach it. If he got a good grip on this he would not fall even if the player missed his footing.
He tried to anticipate the leap from the player. If he was smart, he would time it to coincide with the rhythm of the horse and the lurching of the stagecoach. Yang was not sure what to expect from this player. He waited for the pressure points in his legs to signal the leap from the player.
And then it came, he felt the pressure on his legs and began the leap. At the same moment he saw the flash of a gun from inside the stage-coach.
His squib vest exploded across his back, his tall horse lurched away from the noise, and Yang watched as his fingertips slipped out of the driver side hand-rail. As Yang tumbled to the ground he perceived snapshot images from his fall. His hand stretching out and grasping at the hand-rail; the horse hoofs churning the dusty road. The blue sky blackened by the top of stagecoach. The impact with the ground and with a nauseatingly wet crunch, he heard the bone in his right forearm being crushed by the rear wagon wheel.
He knew without looking, his right arm would be mangled. As Yang started to gather himself to a sitting position, the pain stretched out from his wrist to every nerve in his body until he was shrieking and coughing. Fake blood from the squib vest mingled with real blood from his arm as he cradled it against his chest.
Soon his cousin was at his side. Sam tried to get him to swallow some water from his canteen, but Yang could not unclench his teeth. The stagecoach came rolling up and stopped. Marshal Redburn was driving. He had been hiding inside the stagecoach with the passengers and had purposefully waited till Eli made his jump before he took his shot. Marshal Redburn wore a broad oversized white hat over his interface device. He wore black leather gloves. He had two six-guns, one strapped to each leg. The handles of the Six-guns were painted with a stripe, one red and the other blue.
Redburn sidled over to Yang.
“Well Eli, looks like that’ll be the last time you try robbing the morning stage,” He said expansively, playing to his remote audience.
Yang screamed at him. Tommy Chin just smiled the smug smile of a bully.
Marshal Redburn turned to climb back up on the stagecoach. Yang reached across with his left arm and pulled his six gun from its holster.
At near point blank range he discharged all six rounds directly into Tommy Chin’s backside, firing in rapid succession.
Tommy howled as the squibs beneath his trousers exploded exposing his bruised buttocks and splattering fake red blood all over his ruined trousers. Yang grinned despite the pain and then slipped into blackness.
“Somnambutol: A popular brand name for the synthetic drug lythregulad citrate. One of a family of drugs developed to induce a strong trance-like state. A person under the influence of Somnambutol is highly susceptible to suggestion. These drugs are commonly used by subjects who are allowing their bodies to be manipulated by a remote user over the WetWeb”
- WetWiki