Bob Waterhouse was pleased that he had got another job. He knew what this would mean to his family. There would now be enough money coming in to buy food, pay rent, and for occasional treats and holidays. When he arrived for work on his first day, he was given the task of promoting the new reality game ‘Being There’. His job was to make sure that every family in Cristelee had a copy.
Bob’s new colleagues were a strange bunch. They were friendly enough and chatted to him, but underneath the camaraderie there was an air of detachment, a sort of sadness and acquiescence. Their focus was always on the job in hand. The rest was purely cosmetic.
In fairness, Bob hardly noticed as much as he might have done previously. He was quickly becoming like his colleagues. He was compliant and meek in his demeanour and he remained intently focused on his task as he strove to reach his sales targets. But try as he might, there remained a large number of shopkeepers who wouldn’t even consider stocking the game. Bob was selling games, but somehow never enough to satisfy his own aspirations. He was a man who usually prided himself on his achievements, but deep down inside he didn’t feel he was doing as well as he could. So he went to see Mr Araz. The advice he got surprised him, but not as much as it might once have done.
“Give them away,” said Mr Araz. “Take one to every house in the town. It doesn’t matter if they already have one, they can give it to someone else or destroy it. The important thing is that everyone in Cristelee should have one. We can use the people who play the game here in our future advertisements. That way they can tell people who don’t live here how good it is and that will increase sales all across the UK – and, hopefully, worldwide too. Once that happens, the future of the factory and the workforce will be secured. Don’t worry about the money. I will pay you for each one you deliver, just as if you had sold them.”
Bob Waterhouse should have been pleased that he was going to get money for the relatively simple exercise of delivering games, instead of the hard slog of selling them, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t see the sense in it despite Mr Araz’s assertions of future sales, so he told his boss how he felt.
Mr Araz’s response was to ask him to sit down and play the computer game with him. This time, Bob chose to be the winner of the US Open Golf Championship. As he pushed his way forward on the leader board, Bob’s concentration reached levels hitherto not attained by him. When the game ended, he leaned back in his seat and relaxed. He felt on top of the world. Mr Araz smiled and congratulated him; then, without choosing his own option or playing, he put the game away.
“As I was saying, Bob,” he said. “Deliver one game to each household in Cristelee.”
“Yes Mr Araz, that makes good sense,” said Bob compliantly, his earlier euphoria replaced by a mood of subdued servility.
*
Two days later, a copy of ‘Being There’ dropped onto the doormat at the house Zoe shared with her parents and her brother. She picked it up and looked at the instructions, and then with a shrug of her shoulders and a sardonic smile, she went to place it among the CDs and DVDs in the storage unit beside the television in the lounge. She was confident that it would remain there unused for a long time.
Zoe didn’t like computer games. She saw no point in them. From her psychological studies, she thought that although they might improve young people’s motor skills, they also played a part in desensitising children to the effects and realities of death and violence. Zoe saw computer games as occupying inordinate amounts of young people’s time that could have been effectively spent physically exercising, or engaging in activities that stimulated their own imagination and creativity. She knew that her parents wouldn’t use the game either, as their computer skills and interests were quite restricted.
Zoe had more to think about than computer games at the moment anyway. She was not making sufficient progress in her studies as she had become a little preoccupied with recent events, in which it seemed to her that an increasing number of news events were recurring. Every day she came across at least one news item, either on television or in the newspapers, that she was sure had appeared before – a crime, a football score, even a celebrity death, all occupied air and press time even though Zoe thought she could remember hearing or reading about them before.
Zoe’s younger brother Jake had no such qualms about computer games, nor did he have any reservation about playing them. He grabbed the DVD case from Zoe’s hand, before she could place it in the storage unit, and quickly extracted the game disc.
“This looks great,” he announced excitedly. “I can play it first, can’t I?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“If you must,” breathed Zoe, tutting and shaking her head in bewilderment at the way her brother seemed to place more importance on playing a computer game than he did on anything else.
“Cool,” said Jake, before heading rapidly in the direction of his bedroom where he wasted no time inserting the game into his computer.
Jake selected a war game in which he was a top general in the British Army, plotting a raid on enemy troops in the war. He got great pleasure out of watching the results of his planned sorties beyond enemy lines and at the finish, he took the congratulations of his colleagues and superiors as the enemy were routed and the battle won.
Afterwards, he sat back with a satisfied look on his face as he reflected on the enjoyment he’d got during the time he’d spent with his head encased in the giant headphones.
Jake switched off his computer after he’d finished the game. He felt exhilarated and flushed from his success and the adrenalin ran high from the reality that the game had brought. He longed for another go, so he set up the machine and selected once more from the menu.
He decided to stay with the army. This time he was in the field of battle, in charge of a troop of soldiers who had to outwit and capture a band of insurgents who were based in a South American jungle. Despite being pleased with his previous effort, Jake found this game tougher than he expected and far more realistic. He lost some of his men to enemy fire and although it was just a game, the realism and enormity of the occasion got to him and he was overcome with grief and sorrow for a while. He was also scared, though he would never admit that to anyone – least of all his sister.
The scenery and the soldiers were very lifelike and when he made a mistake and led his men into an ambush, he became aware of his heart pounding madly as he quickly commanded them to withdraw and retreat – with him following rapidly behind them as they fled. Even then they were shot at, and Jake rubbed his arm to try to ease the searing pain from the spot where the enemy bullets had struck him and sunk into the flesh above his elbow. But he stuck to the task and his troop succeeded in their mission. He now felt much more satisfied with his performance.
Zoe stood on the landing outside of Jake’s bedroom door, which was wide open. She watched her brother as he took off the headphones. He had a glazed look on his face, which was also flushed with excitement. She noticed that his arm was bleeding.
“What have you done to your arm?” she asked.
Jake looked down. He brushed the blood away with a sweep of his hand. “Nothing,” he said. “I think I must have scratched myself in my excitement when I was playing the game. I’ll get mum to bandage it.”
Zoe peered at her brother’s arm. She could swear that was no scratch. It looked more like a small hole. In fact, there were two holes. They looked a bit like the sort of holes that bullets might make.
“Let me see,” Zoe demanded.
But Jake was out of the door like a shot and running into the kitchen to his mother who, after tutting and shaking her head at the mess on his arm, and questioning what he had done, promptly applied antiseptic cream and a couple of plasters. She then wrapped her handiwork in a clean white bandage.
Jake went back to his bedroom and lay down on his bed, breathing deeply and trying to stop his thoughts from racing. Gradually, his heartbeat slowed as he began to relax. He had really enjoyed playing ‘Being There’, but even though there was a vast menu of events still to choose from, somehow Jake knew he wouldn’t be playing it again. He felt different. Something had happened to him during his cyber adventures and everything had changed. He was clear about what his next step would be. He now had to get his parents and his sister to play.
“I’m not playing your stupid computer game,” said Zoe forcefully, when Jake described his own experiences and asked her to play too.
“Me neither,” said Mrs Marshall. “I’m not that good with computers and I certainly don’t understand how any of those games work. I think I’ll stick to Monopoly and Scrabble, thank you.”
Zoe shook her head and smiled as she heard her mother’s rejection. She knew Jake was wasting his time in pursuing that particular course, and she doubted he would get a positive response from his dad either. She leaned forward in her chair and tried to concentrate on the pile of books and papers spread out before her on the dining room table. Her attention was soon diverted again though, as she noticed that her father had donned the headphones and was sitting at the downstairs computer playing the game. This was a sight that she never expected to see, but her dad seemed to be engrossed in what he was doing and a triumphant smile played on his lips as his hands moved swiftly across the controls.
Mr Marshall had always fancied himself as the pilot of a transatlantic jet plane and now thanks to this game, he could fulfil his dream. Sweat stood out on his brow as he wrestled to bring the aircraft under control when it flew into a heavy storm that bore hallmarks of becoming a hurricane. He could hear the screams of passengers competing against the loud whine of the engines. He could feel the anxiety that enveloped the interior of the jetliner. He could sense the fear in the faces and body language of his co-pilot and the cabin crew, who watched silently as he tried to hold the plane steady in the face of mounting winds and thickening black cloud slashed with regular streaks of lightning, while peals of thunder rolled and rumbled around the darkening sky.
Mr Marshall’s heartbeat quickened. His brow furrowed deeply as he focused all of his attention on the scene unfolding before him. One slip now, he told himself, and we will all die. Minutes later, it was all over. He landed the airliner safely on the runway of what looked to be Heathrow Airport, and sat back as the huge flying machine taxied slowly toward the main terminal building. The smile of triumph returned to his face.
“Phew,” he said as he took off the headphones, “that sure is some game.”
Despite his feelings of excitement and ecstasy as he finished the game, within a few minutes Mr Marshall became aware of another, stronger feeling that seemed to be taking over from the others. It was flatter and more subdued, yet not in the usual negative way. He felt as if all was well within his world and fate couldn’t hurt him any more, as if he now didn’t need any more ambition or goals in his life, except to get his wife and daughter to play that game. Then, everything would be perfect.
Over the next few days, Zoe began to notice a change in the behaviour of both her brother and her father. It wasn’t a drastic change, more of a subtle one, and she couldn’t exactly say what it was, but she could sense a difference in the way they both approached things.
Jake and her father were very similar characters. They had always been somewhat excitable, often acting without thinking, easily frustrated, prone to angry outbursts if things weren’t going their way and they were both certainly impatient – expecting immediate responses and actions from those around them to every request and demand that they made.
Now, Zoe noticed that both Jake and her dad seemed to be calmer in the manner in which they approached life. Their movements seemed to be almost leisurely, nothing appeared to bother either of them and everything was apparently being taken in their stride. Whatever the event or occasion, the response was dulled and practically robotic in its repetitiveness – reminding Zoe of the display of clockwork soldiers her great grandfather had shown her when she was very young.
Mrs Marshall didn’t seem to notice any difference, at least she never mentioned it to Zoe if she did, and Zoe could see that her mother hadn’t changed in the same way that her father and brother had. So she didn’t dwell on the situation herself, thinking that maybe the stress she was under had made her imagine or exaggerate the responses of her sibling and her dad. In fact after a few days, the new behaviour traits she thought she’d observed, now seemed to be quite normal.