Wayfarers

{<style> tw-sidebar { display: none; } </style>}<div class="box-area"><div class="text-area"><h1>Wayfarers</h1> <h2>$d[ (text-color: gray)[New Journey] <div class="pulse-element">[[➵ Continue Journey|Load Game]]</div>{(if: (saved-games: ) contains "Slot A")[ (link: "Load Previous Save")[(load-game:"Slot A")] ]} [[How to Play]] [[Game Credits]] ] </h2> </div> {<div class="wrapper"> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> </div>} </div> (track: 'wayfarers', 'play')

(set: _typewriterText to "Hello, Specialist Alvarez. You are in an American VA hospital. I am your doctor. I am going to explain what has happened to you.")A message materialized in the dark. A text. A familiar technological presence, (link-reveal:"perky and bright:") [ $x[ ''DOCTOSIN:''` `{  (set: _typewriterPos to 1)  |typewriterOutput>[]  (live: 20ms)[  (append: ?typewriterOutput)[(print: _typewriterText's _typewriterPos)]  (set: _typewriterPos to it + 1)  (if: _typewriterPos is _typewriterText's length + 1)[ (stop:) ] ] } ] (after: 7s)+(t8N: "fade-left")[When I focused my thoughts, I could [[message back]].] ]

(set: _typewriterText to "WHAT HAPPENED TO MY BODY") $x[''PT_0135:''` `{  (set: _typewriterPos to 1)  |typewriterOutput>[]  (live: 20ms)[  (append: ?typewriterOutput)[(print: _typewriterText's _typewriterPos)]  (set: _typewriterPos to it + 1)  (if: _typewriterPos is _typewriterText's length + 1)[ (stop:) ] ] } ] (after: 3s)+(t8N: "fade-left")[Tosin explained, and if I’d had a stomach, I might have felt sick. Instead, I felt as if I were reading about a [[deranged dream]] they’d had.]

Tosin said that this scenario had been detailed in the paperwork I’d signed. They’d asked me what measures they should take to save me, and I’d asked for everything. Including experimental therapy. He even showed me a scan of the advance directive that I’d signed. $t[✓// I direct that all <strike>medically appropriate</strike> measures be provided to sustain my life regardless of my physical or mental condition.//] Someone (me, presumably) had crossed out “medically appropriate” and written “I welcome a life as Frankenstein’s cyborg.” I’d even edited [[the section on brain death]].

Tosin gave me a moment for my thoughts, but it was hard to grieve in the dark. My buddies. My friends. My family when the last of my blood—my actual sister, who I’d listed as my health proxy for whatever bizarre reason—put herself thousands of miles away from me. All extinguished, along with everything we’d ever shared, every memory we’d held between us. I couldn’t summon the hard breaths that come with horror and sadness. I couldn’t feel my mouth to open it and curse or cry out. Was my heart pounding? Was I sweating, shaking? How could I feel //anything// without my body? My mind found a way, summoning [[every other wretched memory from my life]].

$x[''DOCTOSIN:'' Today we’ll be starting your experimental narrative therapy. Through gameplay, you will help us make the necessary repairs to your mind. You will <span class="textlink">[[know yourself]]</span> again…]

$m[Select your game. * [[Dragonsaga: The First Wars]] * [[Words with Strangers]] * [[Fairy Racing Spectacular]] * [[Hatch]] * [[Wayfarers]] * [[Starry Skies]] * [[Forever War]] ] $x[''PT_0135:'' Is this the only way back?] $x[''DOCTOSIN:'' You will return to us.] (group: 'playing', 'stop')

$m[Play as Hans Vickter, a scarred and handsome man who has found himself on the front lines of the battle against the dragons that threaten Tír na nÓg. The latest entry in the //Dragonsaga// series takes you to the first curses, first dreams, first killings, and first loves that birthed the kingdoms of mortals, sybils, and dragonriders. `< `//Back to [[game library]]//]

$m[Play with anonymous hospital staff and even patients! Will you //maximize// your points, or will that be a //quixotic// endeavor? `< `//Back to [[game library]]//]

$m[3, 2, 1, go! Hit the gas on your winged vehicle and get ready for magic, music, and mayhem in this sparkling adventure. You will travel through the forests, islands, gullies, mountain paths, and curio shops of fairyland. Have a taste of fairy food, and stay forever! `< `//Back to [[game library]]//]

$m[There is no right path...or is there? Will you be grateful for the adventure you have undertaken, or will your travels blaze a trail littered with broken dreams? `< `//Back to [[game library]]//] My sister used to play a little indie game called //Caminante//. Your character was a flâneur—she taught me that word—who woke every morning to wander a city of ever-changing architecture. I remembered now, that she was the opposite of me. How many times had I tried to drag her from her room when we were kids? She was happiest at her computer.

$m[Get ready to barrel roll! Dodge asteroids and quasar beams in your customized spacefighter as you clear the skies of illegal spacecraft. Only you can stop the aliens from invading our borders. `< `//Back to [[game library]]//] Yeesh. My mom insisted on keeping the “x” in Latino back when we were kids. She would have been pissed to see this kind of game was still around. But my dad, despite being a descendant of border-crossers, used to follow around anyone speaking Spanish in the grocery store and yell, “ICE!” so he could broadcast their reactions on his prank stream. When our parents argued, Mom would threaten to divorce him over the red baseball caps he kept in his early-century collection of historical memorabilia.

$m[Your grandparents played this. Your parents played this. Now it’s your turn.] [[Hmmm.]]

Back at the FOB where I was stationed, one out of every five care packages had a fresh copy of //Forever War//. It was a first-person shooter set during the war (when else?), with the added innovation that your battle could take place at any point on the war’s timeline. Invasion. Post-surge. The insurgency. The post-insurgency insurgency. The post-post-insurgency insurgency. Then twenty years later, when we went back to fix the mess we made the first, second, and third times around. And so on. The war cropped up in other places around the world, and there was a theory that there was no single source to the war. That some mental contagion had made us all ball up our fists and start swinging. But others said the war could be traced back to //one// source—a single trigger. Our grandparents’ games were period-accurate, realistic down to recoil patterns and ballistics damage. But //Forever War// was for our generation. We were soaked in war, and we wanted a fantasy. As you cycled through the decades in //Forever War,// the enemies changed, the cities appeared in various stages of destruction, and every other man carried an AK-47. Women and children—the game didn’t bother including them as background characters. You could fight with a knife if you wanted, or a screwdriver, or unlock a flamethrower. Fuck the Geneva Conventions. You could even //end// the war with the nuclear option. The best way to play was to speedrun it and cause as much chaos as possible. I used to love it. Now? Ugh. [[Moving on.]]

{<style> tw-sidebar { display: none; } </style>} <div class="box-area"><div class="text-area"><h1>Wayfarers</h1> <div class="pulse-element"><h2>$d[[➵ New Journey|opening scene]]</h2></div> </div> </div> {<div class="wrapper"> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> </div>} (track: 'wayfarers', 'play')

My avatar woke in a nondescript bedroom in a no-name town. He was dark-haired, blue-eyed, probably a quiet loner from a throwback RPG. Then I noticed a second twin bed, with a girl. She was waking up now. Pale skin. Long black hair, blue eyes. Something about these characters rang a bell, as if I had played this game before. My avatar’s mother walked in: $wt[Good morning, sleepyheads.] And the girl in the bed turned to me. $x[''ADA:'' <span class="textlink">[[hey]]</span>]

I started poking around the room for usable objects. The girl walked into me. She spoke [[again]].

$x[''ADA:'' Are you ignoring me?] $x[''PT_0135:'' are you an NPC?] $x[''ADA:'' I’m a fucking grunt like you! Hold up. Are YOU real? ] $x[''PT_0135:'' I’m real!] $x[''PT_0135:'' how come you have a name?] $x[''ADA:'' how come <span class="textlink">[[you]]</span> don’t? Should I call you zero-one-three-five for the rest of our lives?]

//And //she was broken, too. On the way to our absent father’s study, we took a brief tour of our virtual home. She walked into walls, knocked into family portraits, and after she discovered a letter-opener on the desk, insisted on stabbing a locked drawer when we needed to find the key. Ughhhhh. I didn’t want another Duracell. $x[''$name:'' why is this even a two-player game?] $x[''ADA:'' should i have died instead?] $x[''$name:'' i didn’t say that] $x[''ADA:'' you must think i love it here] $x[''$name:'' didn’t say that either] $x[''ADA:'' i must have been talking to myself then] When we finally opened that stupid desk drawer, we found a pair of silver tickets to the Mystery Ride at the town carnival. Ada grabbed them and [[off we went]].

$wt[Welcome to the Mystery Ryde. What is it you seek? (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.5s)[<span class="textlink2"> //[[I want to find my father]]//</span> ] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.75s)[ <span class="textlink2">//[[Let me on that ride]]//</span>] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3s)[<span class="textlink2">//[[Who are you?]]//</span>] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3.25s)[<span class="textlink2">//[[Sorry, I meant to go somewhere else]]//</span>] ]

$wt[Hmm…your father. I remember him. He was a bold man. But he abandoned you, didn’t he? Are you sure you want to find him? (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.5s)[<span class="textlink2">//[[Yes]]//</span>] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.75s)[<span class="textlink2">//[[Not really]]//</span>] ]

$wt[Pushy, aren’t you? There is no need to hurry. You have nothing better to do. (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.5s)[ <span class="textlink2">//[[I want to find my father]]// </span>] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3s)[<span class="textlink2">//[[Who are you?]]//</span>] ]

$wt[I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3s)[ [[That was weird...]] ]

$wt[But there is <span class="textlink2">[[nowhere else]]</span> to go.]

$wt[Once through this door, you will be Wayfarers. You will make Wayfarer choices. You will bend the adventure your way. And you will never retrace your steps. Do you wish to proceed? (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.5s)[<span class="textlink2">//[[Yes|Proceed through door]]// </span>] ]

A white door materialized before us. Ada grabbed the knob. She opened it. Once through that door, we became [[Wayfarers|we fell]]. (track: 'wayfarers', 'fadeout', 3)

We spotted a boat moored just beyond the frothing breakers. Far, far beyond it, on the horizon, we made out a white, glowing [[palace]]. (display: "Save Game") (track: 'dawn', 'fadeout', 6)

I went back and loaded //Starry Skies//. That’s how I ended up getting paired with Duracell. Tosin explained we would get to partner up with other patients to rally our spirits and push each other. I had a life satisfaction score, and that was how Tosin meant to check in on me. After I played through with the computer as my partner, Tosin paired me up with another patient who went by ''AAA''. Duracell, I decided to call him. Apparently Duracell’s inner ear had been damaged during the war, so every time we logged into our space-race game, he smashed his starfighter into slow-moving asteroids. It was like watching him plow through cows on the side of the road. When I told him to at least crash into the bogeys, he barreled into me. Game Over, Game Over, Game Over. I hated him. Itold him he’d have been better off as pink mist or red slime under someone’s boot. All he ever said was: $x[''AAA:'' AAAAAAA] When Tosin finally noticed my life-satisfaction score slipping, they told me to pick a new game. A polite way for me to toss Duracell aside. I went back to the [[game library|gamelibrary2]].

(cycling-link: bind _recall, "Tran", "Nelson", "Olivieri", "Jackson") (event: when time > 10s or _recall is 'Jackson')[==My friends, my people, my buddies, but my lips were numb. More than numb—my lips were absent. Where was [[my body]]?

The story was unfolding the way my sister’s games used to. The day was fair, the sky bright and blue, the sun a white disc directly overhead, unmoving. We passed the little one- and two-story houses in our town. Neighbors gathered outside their doorways and hollered: $wt[Good morning!] My avatar had a gangly walk, as if he had only now discovered puberty. Ada walked on her toes, wary and poised, graceful, despite her restless meandering. After a few minutes, we could hear the carnival music—a brass band accompanied by jangling bells and drumbeats. A woman, unseen, wailed a song, and then the carnival bloomed around us. Tents yellow, blue, red, gold, striped, purple, dotted. Stands flashed with light, and vendors swaggered out asking us to play and win stupid prizes. The top winners could get seashell charms, rainbow-colored scarves, and stone-climbing cleats. A merchant sold weapons from far and wide, including blades that grew sharper if you whet them with blood. A jeweler hawked earrings that could make you disappear, could make you fall in love. A little vendor pushed a cart of balloons. A yellow balloon popped and showered us with glitter. A pig-tailed girl was chasing a floppy-eared puppy. We asked her [[what the hubbub was about]].

$wt[Victory Day, of course! You are so clueless, ya know? We always remember the start of the Hundred Year War!] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3s)[ [[Yeah, whatever.]]]

Our tickets directed us to the far side of the carnival. Ada wanted to skip the minigames and all the story-building, and I told her great, let’s get to the main event. $x[''$name:'' we get our bodies back at the end of this] $x[''ADA:'' sure we will] The music tapered off as we drew closer to our destination. We passed a worn sign that read, of course, //Mystery Ryde//. The trees here wrapped their lantern-strung branches around a white tent stitched with large silver stars. We pushed aside the tent flap and went inside. Absolute dark. I couldn’t see Ada anymore. Was the game even still on? Then flickering [[letters]] appeared.

$wt[He did leave you a message. He said, “I bend all roads toward me.”] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.5s)[$x[''ADA:'' Tell him yes, Player1, we want to find our father! why else are we here?] $x[''$name:'' maybe we should part ways] $x[''ADA:'' you still have a problem with me?] $x[''$name:'' no, i just think YOU have a problem] $x[''ADA:'' are you forgetting the number of times YOU glitched since we met? we’re competing for biggest loser here] Ugh. So //maybe// I had walked into some walls, too. $x[''$name:'' ok fine FINE] I went through the conversation again and this time, I selected “[[Yes]].” ]

My name... Talia. Quinn. Roberta. Linda? And did my sister really not want me to [[come back|silence]]?

Ada messaged me some excited emoji. Through some clever planning that involved a glow worm and a large rock (okay, not so clever), we managed to catch a monster-size fish to trade for the old man’s boat. The journey across the narrow sea took twice as long because Ada kept flailing with the oars. $x[''$name:'' You know you suck at this right?] $x[''ADA:'' fuck right off] Then the waters around us heaved, and long tentacles foamed up out of the depths. We were being attacked by an armored squid. We had skipped all the minigames at the festival—presumably those would have taught us how to collaborate—so now we had to figure out how to fight on the fly. We flailed with the oars. $x[''$name:'' to your left!] $x[''ADA:'' STOP HITTING ME!] We swatted at the tentacles and then rowed like madmen. Then the squid lunged and spread its eight legs to curl around our boat, that diamond-tipped beak coming for my face. Ada leapt in and jammed her oar into the mouth. I smashed my oar into its beak. [[Black ink]] splattered our faces.

I felt a full-body throb, a phantom pain. I wanted meds, painkillers, something to knock me out or put the pain away, to make me feel like I wasn’t dying. Suddenly I could sense the muffled enclosure of the gauze and the pricks of this user interface against my scalp. I felt an ocean of things around me, liquids, plastics, an oozing and squishiness that was nothing like muscle or bone. I didn’t want to know or understand it. I didn’t want to know what had become of me. And then [[we started]]. (display: "Save Game") (group: 'playing', 'stop')

$x[''DOCTOSIN:'' Why don’t you play something else for a little while?] $x[''$name:'' Is she okay?] $x[''DOCTOSIN:'' I cannot share this player’s health information] Geez. Time for [[another game|FOREVERWAR]]. (group: 'playing', 'stop')

Ada messaged me that she was back. $x[''$name:'' <span class='textlink'>(link: "where did you go?")+(t8n: "fade-left")[(I missed you OK?)]</span> ''ADA:'' I’ve been sick ''$name:'' You didn’t even say anything ''ADA:'' How could I? I was out. dead to the world. 💫😵 I don’t even know how much time passed ''$name:'' whatever ''ADA:'' I don’t need to be here. I can play something else. ''$name:'' <span class='textlink'>(link: "Are you getting better?")+(t8n: "fade-left")[(Don’t leave again, you idiot.)]</span> ''ADA:'' That’s what they say ''ADA:'' ...hey, listen ''ADA:'' do you really believe we’ll get our bodies back? ''$name:'' We have to wake up sometime. ''ADA:'' you don’t think we’ll be dreaming in this game forever? ''$name:'' dreaming? like, a vacation? on whose dime? they want to put us back to work, trust me ''ADA:'' that’s what scares me] [[Fast-forward...|unpause]]

Fast-forward a few game chapters, here we were. Another one of Ada’s log-outs, but this time it was clear why. She had been logging out on a more set schedule, it seemed, as they pushed medications that made her loopy. I couldn’t tell if this meant she was getting better or worse. I had these blips, too, and I could tell when they were happening now. Times when Ada would circle back with me to see if I remembered the last thing we’d done together. We checked in on each other as if we could stop our minds from turning to mush as we approached the end of the game. Every time Ada came back, I was relieved. $wp[— Pause —] $x[''ADA:'' Jesus. These things are killing me ''$name:'' does it hurt? ''ADA:'' what DOESN’T, amirite? but doc was nice] Tosin was a dick. And, Tosin could be generous. Generous Tosin had uploaded a Gunblade skin so Ada could have her dream weapon. The Gunblade worked the same as a standard Berserker Sword. It couldn’t shoot, but the look of it boosted Ada’s life-satisfaction. That worked for me. I still hadn’t decided what to ask for from our dear doctor Santa Claus. $wp[Continue? //<span class="textlink2">[[Yea]]</span> Nay//]

The Crosspatch Bear. When he raised his bulk to his full height, he was twice as tall as my avatar. A thick, steel collar trailing a broken chain was fastened around his neck. At least he only had claws to hurt us. Until he pulled a sword out of a tree. This new weapon, he explained in his bear roar, had been forged from the tooth of an ancestor. And now, he said as he twirled the blade around, he would use it to “end” us. Then he cut the air and the sword [[blasted ice]].

{$wt[You will regret the price of conquest…] (t8n: "fade-left")+(t8n-delay:2s)+(transition-time: 3s)[$wt[The King Beyond the Sands will have his joy, ripped from your gasping throats. Even I, great and ancient as I am, was imprisoned in this body and gifted to his most loyal servant. I die, a raging plaything, slain by travelers too ignorant even to speak my true name.] ] (t8n: "fade-left")+(t8n-delay:8s)+(transition-time: 3s)[$wt[Avoid my fate, if you wish. Beware the <span class="textlink2">[[mountain king]]</span>.]] }

A victory tune played, and Ada got her avatar to do a little jig. I picked up the prize the bear had (link-reveal: "dropped.") [$wf[You just got a <span class="textlink2">[[rusty ol’ key]]</span>!] ]

This was worse than online dating (not that this was like dating—at all—whatsoever), where you see the other person’s picture and wonder whether that upturned nose, those deep eyes, and those soft-looking lips could all exist on the same face. What filters had magicked, it was impossible to know until you actually met. And for us, meeting was basically impossible. So here I had my young generic dude face. And she was unreasonably cute. We were pretty and white like the main characters of yesteryear. In real life, I had my parents’ brown eyes, and Mom’s broad, stubborn build. I had abs and triceps and hard calves and I could do a dozen pull-ups on a good day. I used to joke I’d left my good looks behind the day I put on my fatigues, but my girls looked amazing no matter what I wore. I had long brambly black hair, inherited from Dad, that I chopped to my shoulders before deployment because the chemical attacks had finally started, and I didn’t care to waste a second pulling on my gas mask. All that was gone now. Ada was like (link-reveal:"me. ")[Whose sister said, //don’t come back//. But did she really say that?] //That was all that mattered.// Pale rays of light angled across the rock face. The dirt path changed color from brown to red to copper to gold, as if we were becoming wealthier [[with every step]].

$x[''ADA:'' where’s our continental breakfast? ''$name:'' didn’t I tell you? it was next to the magic bear in the fairy dust cavern ''$name:'' how is it going? ''ADA:'' 😮‍💨 Tosin said I have an infection. I’m not as healthy as you ''$name:'' EXCUSE ME?] That pissed me off. I wasn’t “healthy,” I told her. An IED couldn’t take out my tank, but an explosively formed penetrator did. It took everyone else with it. Her helicopter was shot down over the desert, she countered. If we’d died when we should have, our ghosts would have passed each other on the other side. $x[''ADA:'' i know your type. you would have wanted the clean, happy death. not this nasty recovery business. i bet you DREAM about finding your way back to your buddies ''$name:'' fuck off. you love this life? ''ADA:'' at least it’s living] Then, a [[blue-and-black frog]] hopped out from behind a boulder to interrupt us.

It spoke: $wt[Welcome to the mountain, Wayfarers. Do you know that a great bard once said, “Wayfarer, there is no true way—you make the way as you go”? If you would like to continue to make your way, answer these five questions: (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.5s)[//What year is it?//] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.75s)[//Who is the commander-in-chief?//] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3s)[//How were you wounded during the war?//] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3.25s)[//Are you playing a full-immersion game?//] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3.5s)[//<span class="textlink2">[[Is this real?]]</span>//] ]

$x[''ADA:'' Can I tell you something? ''$name:'' are we done bickering? ''ADA:'' you have a lot of rage ''$name:'' thanks for the compliment ''ADA:'' do you think the rage is keeping you alive? ''ADA:'' After Dad was deployed I never saw him again. But I tried to follow him out there anyway. I got his same MOS, and I tried to get stationed at his old base ''$name:'' they’d never allow it ''ADA:'' I had hope. I felt that if I found where he’d crossed over, I’d finally know something about him, about me. About why we’re still trapped in this war] Listening to her talk reminded me of my sister. In our last conversation, when she told me not to come back, she had also said— $x[''ADA:'' remember when we were kids, and they kept saying that AI would replace every foot soldier? but they never stopped needing people. and i think i know <span class="textlink">[[how they got them]]</span> ]

$x[''ADA:'' if they say you can either stay and fight, or go back to the real world and face the rest of your life in your broken body, what will you pick?] I said nothing. I was embarrassed for her, that she was so afraid. It was true that enlistment numbers were down, but they had //been// down for decades, since long before I was even born. The military had overcome that lack of manpower with better and better technology. They put those billions of dollars to use for signing bonuses, and the government offered tax credits for the families whose children would fill the ranks. Kids as young as twelve were signing away their adult years. I signed up when I was fifteen, and my recruiter kept tabs on me until I was eighteen. A second dad, making sure I stayed out of trouble before the Army claimed me. We were young and moldable. There were so many of us. There was no point in recycling minds like ours to put us back in the field, was there? I guess, if you kept deploying our minds, you could end up with hundred-year-old soldiers, far better skilled than the eighteen-, twenty- and thirty-year-olds out there now. A hundred years of battlefield experience. Would that make it worth it? How long could this war last? $x[''$name:'' what would you do?] $x[''ADA:'' this has been fun. but I think I’m finally <span class="textlink">[[homesick]]</span>]

I wanted to design my own game. I would call mine //Arena//. That means sand in Spanish. My Spanish was shit—my mom used to call me No Sabo—but I did know that much. In my //Arena//, I would go to the desert, back to the city where I’d almost died. The game would have the same intersections, signs, and too-narrow-for-a-Bradley streets. I’d make sure to include the corner where our cigarette man would hang out, and the intersection where a car bomb decimated a corner shop. But //Arena// would not be //Forever War//. It would be quiet. No combatants. Only civilians. No rubble or suspicious-looking garbage hiding IEDs. There’d be women and children and men, and they would have errands to run, and plans to make, and that would be bliss. It would be like the war had never happened. Like you could go to the market, pick up your groceries, come home, cook dinner, eat, wash up, and sleep. You would never be a soldier here. You would be [[nobody]], and happy for it.

In //Arena//, I would meet those people who had hurled rocks at us when we drove by, and whose kids had chased us begging for candy. We’d talk, have a cup of tea, two, three. I’d have enough time to learn their language and customs. Or not. They owed me nothing. Whatever they gave me would be their choice. Ada could have a place for herself, too. Her chopper would circle over the empty desert. That was it. It would never need to rescue soldiers—the boots on the ground would never have arrived. She’d come visit my city every now and then and tell me what it was like to fly along the river. Her name—Ada—meant //fairy//, and she’d be that guiding pinprick of light in the sky. As for the people I had killed... I didn’t think about them often now. Perhaps that was the brain damage, or the drugs, or both. Circumstances, and my own subconscious, fought to erase the truth of what I had been. //Arena// was an illusion. The dead were gone, and I had lost so much, and now I was dreaming only of a place that was [[safe]] to go home to.

We’d come halfway up the mountain, to a massive door made of stone. Runes wrapped around the giant, unmistakeable keyhole cut into its center. I used the rusty ol’ key from the forest to [[open the path]].

$wp[— Pause —] $x[ { (live: 1.5s)[ (either: "''ADA:'' fuck fuck tosin doc docnnnnnn nnnnn", "''$name:'' What’s going on?", "''$name:'' Stop messing around!", "''DOCTOSIN:'' I’ve paged the doctor", "''ADA:'' DOCNNNNNNN nnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaaa",, "''DOCTOSIN:'' Everyone take a deep breath", "''$name:'' stop it!", "''ADA:'' aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa","''$name:'' ADA??","''ADA:'' LOGOFFLOGOFFLOGOFFLOGOFF") ]} ] (after: 10s)[ [[LOG OFF!]] ] (track: 'wayfarers', 'stop') (track: 'glitch', 'play')

$x[''$name:'' <span class="textlink">[[ADA?]]</span>] (group: 'playing', 'stop')

$x[''$name:'' <span class="textlink">[[hey where are you?]]</span>]

$x[''$name:'' <span class="textlink">[[ADA????]]</span>]

Dark, dark, dark. I was gasping. My mind felt full of eels. Where was she? Why was no one saying anything? Was Tosin about to appear and tell me...tell me they weren’t allowed to tell me anything? Then there was [[light]].

//Wayfarers// reappeared. Suddenly I couldn’t remember if I had been gone a few minutes or a few hours. The fear and the pain had been dulled, either by time or drugs, I wish I knew. Yet here I was, at the entrance to [[the mountain]]. (group: 'playing', 'stop') (track: 'wayfarers', 'fadein', 3)

$x[''$name:'' hello? how long was I gone?] The landscape pivoted around me as I swung the “camera” left and right. $x[''ADA:'' Behind you.] She must have been in my blind spot and the camera wasn’t swinging that far. This stupid game. What if I just said “no” the next time Tosin asked me to play? $x[''ADA:'' I got your back. ''$name:'' are you ok? ''ADA:'' Everything is ok. I got <span class="textlink">[[your back]]</span>.]

Inside the mountain, the only illumination came from channels of undulating lava. I jumped from stone to stone to cross them. I was extra careful—I wasn’t interested in going into the fire a second time. Black dust and snowy lumps of ash drifted through the air. $x[''$name:'' Wow I didn’t expect a red carpet like this] Ada didn’t smack me down for the lame joke. I wanted to get rid of this awkard tension between us, but I wasn’t sure how. $x[''$name:'' Sure you’re OK? ''ADA:'' Focus on <span class="textlink">[[the mission]]</span>]

In another chamber, I solved a puzzle that involved maneuvering me-sized crystals across a flat, gridded stone floor. When the last one clicked into place, the blue-and-black frog leapt out from behind a stalagmite. $wt[Welcome, Wayfarer, to the heart of the mountain. How far you’ve come. Far enough to—<span class="textlink2">[[meet your end]]</span>!]

The frog morphed into a wizard in a blue hat. He cast spells at us, and my Moon Gauntlet’s magic was useless this far beneath the earth. A flying piece of rock bounced off my avatar and killed him. Damn. I had to respawn. Back in the game, with Ada nowhere in sight, I used my glove’s +43 strength to punch the cavern floor. Down came a stalactite. It crunched on the wizard. [[Tada!]]

$x[''$name:'' Ada, where you at? I had to do that SINGLE-HANDedly] A door crumbled open at the back of the cavern. Sunlight pierced the belly of the mountain. I passed through to a precipice with a view: a blue sky, a green valley, and a quiet village with a pleasant smokestack. Cue the violins. $x[''$name:'' we made it! Ada] I turned back to find her. A [[cinematic]] started.

The camera’s perspective shifted. A bird’s-eye-view showed Ada and me standing side-by-side at the lip of the cliff. The image bobbed up and down to the rhythm of plodding wingbeats. In the next shot, a black dragon—fire cycling red-orange-red in its throat—was descending on us, one grasping, clawed foot outstretched. I tried to use the Moon Gauntlet again, but I could only watch as those four talons encircled Ada. The dragon snatched her and took off across the valley. Its black blot vanished behind the distant mountains. When the cinematic ended, I could [[move again]].

$x[''$name:'' ada?] No answer. $x[''$name:'' doc, what’s happening?] I felt a full-body throb, a phantom pain. The lighting in the game grew bright, and then brighter, then it flickered white and chaotic. I wanted meds, painkillers, something to knock me out or put the pain away, to make me feel like I wasn’t dying. But no blackness was coming, no disconnect, no fucking meds. I forced myself to focus on what I could feel of my actual body. I realized there was more to //me// than I had expected. I could loosen my chest and throat. Breathe. I still had lungs. Breathe. Relax. I was relieved—while I was freaking out, I’d somehow slipped the interface and felt the real world again. Ada was wrong. We weren’t ghosts. [[The world was right there waiting for us.]]

I went back to //Wayfarers//. Now that my head was clearer, I realized that our storylines must have diverged. This was all part of the classic hero’s journey. Ada and I were each on a solo quest until the final boss fight. I went down into the valley. I restored myself at a local farmer’s house. I was ready to move on when one of the villagers hurried up to me, weeping that her sick father, an old blacksmith, wouldn’t get well until she found the key ingredient for his medication: moldy cheese. Coincidence? Not here. I had been holding onto that damn cheese from Chapter Four for ages. I was more than happy to [[trade it away|trading game]].

I handed over the cheese, and her father thanked me with his broken pocket watch. He told me I had done well to crush the blue-hat wizard. Mizar had been his name. After that, a nearby flower-seller lamented that she needed a tiny piece of clockwork to fix her baby’s toy. As I pulled apart the pocket watch to find the right gear, she told me she had seen the dragon take my friend. It came, she said, from the Seven-Domed Palace. Once her baby’s toy whirred to life, she kissed my cheek and handed me a bouquet of yellow and orange meadow flowers. Back in the war, we’d traded with the locals. The guys exchanged pornos for cigarettes, cigarettes for pornos. I traded tampons for my share of contraband. And so this trading game took me through the village as well. Moldy cheese > broken watch > flower bouquet > blunt axe > secret tome > empty bucket > bucket with well water > bridle. Even though they were all pointing me toward a final battle at the Seven-Domed Palace, I suddenly wished every part of this game had been this cozy, this [[peaceful|Arena]].

$wt[You don’t look like you’re from around here. What brings you up here, Wayfarer? (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.5s)[//Can you tell me about the desert?//] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.75s)[//I want to look through your telescope.//] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3s)[//<span class="textlink2">[[I want to find my friend.]]//</span>] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3.25s)[//Never mind.//] ]

$wt[It sounds like your friend is important to you, but the way ahead is dangerous. Do you still wish to continue? (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.5s)[<span class="textlink2">//[[Yes|findfriend]]//</span>] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.75s)[//No//] ]

$wt[Your friend has been taken to a faraway land. Look through this telescope and see for yourself.] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2.5s)[ [[Look through the telescope.]]]

My avatar leaned into the telescope and pressed his eye against the eyepiece, and then it was like my own eye was gazing through it. It took a moment to adjust to the brightness of the image. From this hut, we could look out to the vast, blistering desert. Strong winds blew sheets of sand off the dunes. I spotted a great blur of white in the distance, and I adjusted the focus until I could make out, veiled by haze and sand, the palace with seven domes. They shone white under the sun. The hermit [[went on]]...

$wt[A great bard once said, “As you go, you make the way and, stopping to look back, you see the path that your feet will never tread again.” Which way will you take to pursue your friend?] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay: 3s)[I thought about it before I made my choice. //“The path your feet will never tread again...”// $wt[ <span class="textlink2">[[Sea]] [[Land]] [[Air]]</span> ]]

I gave the hermit the Phoenix Feather. Then I went outside to wait for my ride. I could already hear it coming. A regular chuff-chuff-chuff. I’d been hoping for an awesome phoenix. Watching the bulky shadow slide across the desert, I decided I’d be happy with a fat, bumbling dragon. What broke through the cloud cover was not a phoenix. It wasn’t a friendly dragon either. It was a hundred-foot-long, military green Boeing CH-47D Chinook. It was a relic from when the war was young. Why was there a CH-47 in //Wayfarers//? [[It landed...]] (track: 'wingbeats', 'fadein', 3)

In Chapter One, Ada and I had crossed the narrow sea. We could never return there.

In the second and third chapters, we’d hacked our way through a castle full of ripped tapestries and then a bubbling swamp. Chapter Four had been the dark woods and the mountain. We could never return there.

It landed on the wide, flat summit of the mountain, and the twin rotors kept spinning. The ramp at the back opened. It was so bizarre that I found myself waiting for someone to come out and explain this twist. Then I realized that this was my ride. Then the hermit said: $wt[Are you ready? (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay: 3s)[//Yes No//]] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay: 3.25s)[ [[Always.]] ]

$c[Chapter Five] $wt[//“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, Half sunk, a shattered visage lies…”//] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay: 2.5s)[We flew over [[the desert]].] (track: 'wayfarers', 'fadeout', 2)

Winds buffeted the CH-47. I peered into the cockpit but there were no pilots. I walked down the length of the echoingly empty cabin and looked through each of the windows. I was flying over dunes and a sea of half-buried, broken statues—a flexing knee, a crooked arm, the grooves of a sand-filled ear. A great finger pointed up at me, as large as the Statue of Liberty. I wished Ada were here to laugh at how eerie it was. We approached the glowing palace, so bright I turned away. The CH-47 landed in an inner courtyard, not far from the white walls, and the ramp came down. A blade of sunlight stabbed into the dark where I stood—I braced myself for action. But there was only the sound of gently running water. I walked down the ramp. What I saw made me wish I could fly back and punch that hermit in the face for saying I could “never” retrace my footsteps. I hadn’t arrived at the Seven-Domed Palace. Instead, I’d returned to the [[real palace]]— (track: 'wingbeats', 'fadeout', 6)

The blue moat. The marble columns. The towering arches. The single dome. It was the same palace that my platoon had marched through, where we’d had our worst firefights, from where we’d called for air support. Months later, with old blood staining the marble floors, we’d dived into its glassy, chlorinated indoor pools. A statue of the most recent dictator, that we had blown up with a well-placed rocket, stood whole and proud in the middle of the moat. I didn’t have my [[Moon Gauntlet]].

I was carrying an M-16, and the camera, close-third until now, had locked in first-person, so I could see my avatar’s right and left hands as if they were my own. I wiggled the gloved fingers. I hefted the M-16. It was heavy. Strange. I lowered my weapon. I slipped the glove off my left hand. I knew the feel of my own hand before I even looked at my beautiful, gorgeous, oh-how-I-missed-you-so brown skin and the old chevron-shaped burn scar on my wrist. I touched my face, my nose, my eyes, and even my eyebrows. Forgetting how much force a body required, I jammed my finger into my mouth. My teeth were all there. My tongue. I hugged myself desperately then. Here were my breasts. Here was my body. I sank to my knees in my own goddamn embrace. I had the urge to rip off my clothes and investigate every last inch of myself, and love this body all over again. I was so relieved, so shocked, the tears started in my eyes but would not fall. Here I was. [[Here.]]

Would she have her [[true body]], too?

I reached an ornate door. Beyond it was the room where I had shot an old palace servant as he cowered behind a chair. I leaned into it to nudge it open. The room was dark and cool—empty, too. Maybe the servant was somewhere else in the palace, in the dining room or at the kitchens, where he belonged. I couldn’t tell if I was relieved that in //Wayfarers//, the war had never happened, or if I was disappointed that even here, our war had [[meant nothing]]...

$wt[My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye mighty, and <span class="textlink2">[[despair]]</span>.]

$c[Final Boss Battle] $wh1[Ozymandias] (after: 2s)+(t8N: "fade-right")[(align:"=><=")+(text-style: "italic")[[Shit!]]] (track: 'wayfarers', 'stop') (track: 'boss', 'play')

$x[''$name:'' shit! ada? Ada, where are you? ''$name:'' Ada!] Ozymandias was rising. His robe flowed off his shoulders. The hat came off, too. Beneath them, he wore the dictator’s military uniform, and now that his beard and nose had fallen away, too, he wore—not the dictator’s face. I fired, but at the third round, my rifle [[jammed]]. (display: "Save Game") (track: 'wayfarers', 'stop')

$x[''$name:'' doc doc doc stop the game stop it] His eyes turned black, black and wide, black like the dragon’s eyes, black like when the docs revived me, like the darkness after my tank was blown up. My punishment for not following my friends into that endless night. For leaving my sister behind when she needed me. For enlisting to prove I could do better than my mother had, that I could survive, could somehow end it. And now for being the only one left. Me. [[Alone—]]

I had wanted friends who’d remember with me what it was like to go through fire and sulfur together long after our grandchildren were born. Those friends were Tran, Nelson, Olivieri, Jackson—and Ada. [[He cut me.]]

He sliced through my left arm, severing it. I heard my forearm hit the ground. I head-butted him. When he jerked back, I bucked him off and twisted the knife away. The grip was familiar—my good old Ka-Bar. In real life, I’d really used this only once, to slice open my boot when I twisted my ankle in training. Now, one-handed, I slit Ozymandias’s throat. Then I rolled onto him and held him down. He bled. And bled. His body thrashed beneath me like a ship breaking on the rocks. I held on instinctively. He stopped convulsing, eventually. [[I ran.]]

At the pool outside, I knelt where the tiles burned through my cammies to my knees. I plunged my bleeding stump into the water. It was warm and wet. Why? Was this body actually mine? As I gazed into the blue, a watery face appeared. It had ears, a mouth, and black eyes— Then the growing cloud of blood obscured it. I looked away. I told myself what year it was. I told myself the name of our commander-in-chief. I told myself I’d been wounded in the war. I told myself this was a game. The pain was not real. This game was not real. When I looked up, [[she]] was standing at the far end of the pool.

Ada, built from in-game pixels, had long black hair that flapped like a banner. When she dove into the water, her hair was like the Nightmare Cloak with the stars stitched into it. She swam across the pool, through the swirling haze of my blood. A few inches from mine, [[her face emerged]].

I wanted to grab her, I wanted to hold her. I wanted to tell her that if I had designed this world, it would have been kind. The [[game credits]] rolled.

Once the credits had finished rolling, the blue-and-black frog hopped into view: $wt[A great bard once said, “Wayfarer, there is no true way, only foam trails in the sea.” Congratulations on successfully making your way! Enter the Hall of Heroes here, and be remembered for All Time!] $wp[(t8n-delay: 4s)+(t8n: "fade-up")[''Inscribe your name:''] (t8n-delay: 4.5s)+(t8n: "fade-up")[''Player: $name''] ] (t8n-delay: 4.75s)+(t8n: "dissolve")[There was no prompt for [[Player 2]].] (display: "Save Game")

I was not in pain. I was uncomfortable, but I was not in pain. No prosthetic legs yet. My arms were transplants from somebody less lucky than me. When the rains fogged the windows of my room, I could touch the glass and leave perfectly clear ovals—no prints. [[No backstory.]]

I had a body again. My skin was knitted together from different tones—pink, brown, white, black. The scar tissue formed seams at my joints, and some of it was numb, and sometimes parts of it hurt, but being in pain wasn’t new to me. I knew pain. Pain would pass. Now that they had to look me in the face, the docs couldn’t ignore me so easily when I needed meds. When the nurse wheeled me by the physical therapy room one day, I asked her about Ada. It had taken me weeks to get my tongue to say her name right. [[“Doesn’t ring a bell.”]]

$c[Chapter Four] (set: _typewriterText to "they’re in the cellar!") Ada and I had been tracking the Crosspatch Bear all day. Rumor had it, the bear had been born beyond the Sandwashed Sea, and had been caged and tortured to entertain partygoers at the Seven-Domed Palace before it escaped. Now that bear was free, and angry. By the time we made it to the farm, it was close to dusk. Seven sheep lay mauled outside the barn. It was the first time I had seen red blood in this game. Up until now, our enemies had dissipated into coils of gray smoke. This change was spooky. The barn doors were wide open, the stalls empty. We split up, and while I searched the hay loft, Ada headed back to the farmhouse. After a minute, (link-reveal: "she called out to me.")[ [$x[ ''ADA:''` `{  (set: _typewriterPos to 1)  |typewriterOutput>[]  (live: 20ms)[  (append: ?typewriterOutput)[(print: _typewriterText's _typewriterPos)]  (set: _typewriterPos to it + 1)  (if: _typewriterPos is _typewriterText's length + 1)[ (stop:) ] ] } ] ] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:1.5s)[I ran to [[find her]].] ]

We would kill the bear. The little girl gave us a token of goodwill. It was moldy and Ada told me I’d have to (link-reveal: "carry it.") [ $wf[You got some <span class="textlink2">[[Moldy Cheese]]</span>!] ]

$wt[— Pause — ] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay: 3s)[What was going on? $x[''DOCTOSIN:'' It’s 12 noon] $x[''ADA:'' pill poppin time. Have a heart] Time for Ada’s medication. Ada was really sick, I had gathered. She was only the second partner I’d had for these games, but she was miles ahead of my last buddy Duracell. Every now and then I figured [[he must be dead]] by now.] (track: 'wayfarers', 'fadeout', 3)

[[Darkness.|not see]]

My buddies and I were in a tank down range when we died. I remember looking at the face next to mine, his black skin shining with sweat, his eyes blooming large. Jackson—that was his name—looked surprised that it was our turn. The viewer that showed us the miles of desert and mountain range suddenly burst with yellow light. The ground boiled beneath us. The explosion wiped my sight away. But then...[[I woke up.]]

I couldn’t see or feel my arms or legs. I felt a dry burning, as if I were walking through the smoke from a bonfire. A headache, only I couldn’t feel my head. I tried to call out to the [[others]].

I had joined the ranks of today’s broken soldiers—quadruple amputees with our ears and eyes burned away, brought back from the dead by the dark magic of modern medicine. Tosin didn’t go into what my body looked like now. There was probably a good reason that I’d been numbed to it. Maybe all that was left was a head and a bit of spine. Maybe my consciousness had been rescued from a slab of brain matter. I suddenly remembered I had frozen my eggs in case the battlefield became radioactive. What future children... The surgeons had tied my damaged brain into an interface that would let me communicate with the medical staff. With my permission, the doctors and their machines were rebuilding my neural pathways, their algorithms generating best-approximation memories to fill in the blanks. $x[''PT_0135:'' with <span class="textlink">[[MY PERMISSION]]</span>?]

— em dash quotes/commas ’ - apostrophe “x”

$x[''ADA:'' did you hear that? light me up, friend] Against the darkness, my gauntlet summoned a mystical full moon. Its pale disc hovered beneath the canopy, creating a glimmering path. Ahead of me, the seven-starred constellation on Ada’s Nightmare Cloak glowed. The freckles of light brought back [[a memory from the war]].

$t[//To declare my death on the basis of the whole brain death standard would violate my personal religious beliefs.//] I had added, “I therefore wish to never be declared dead.” Even if I couldn’t remember writing this, wasn’t it obvious I’d been fucking around? How seriously were they taking all this? $x[''PT_0135:'' what about the others?] $x[''DOCTOSIN:'' Unfortunately, I can’t share that information at this time.] I knew what that meant. [[Fuck.]]

The afternoon I opened the door to the Army captain who let me know Mom [[had disappeared]] during her deployment. That she wouldn’t be coming home.

The morning at the hospital when my sister and I held hands and said goodbye to our father. He went out [[alone]] on his birthday and drove into a tree.

Our family dog, a Chihuaha with vampire teeth that we called Sábado Gigante, dead from a decision my sister and I had to make, because the wear and tear of life had been too much on him. A little death that hurt even more because [[no one]] around us cared.

My sister, before I deployed, on that last video call, telling me, “[[______|my name]], don’t come back.” Her face...blurred.

$m[Select your game: * [[Wayfarers|WAYFARERS]]] Why did I pick it? I still wanted a //fantasy//, finally. (display: "Save Game") (group: 'playing', 'stop')

My cheeks were salty with dried tears. I moved through empty halls and rooms. It felt like I was sneaking into a dream. I passed mosaics that our bullets had once shattered—now they were pieced together. I slunk through rooms that we’d found raided before our arrival; now they held ceramic vases and hand-woven rugs. I passed a sleeping tiger, the same creature we’d found starving, declawed and defanged, its fur matted with shit, the air reeking of death. Its dozing head now sank over the leather collar buckled around its neck. The room smelled...floral. I climbed the spiral staircase where my buddy lost half his brain. I climbed all the way to [[the top]].

Then I remembered what that little girl had said...so long ago...when Ada and I had begun the game. She had told us something about Victory Day. Was this my chance to end the war [[before it ever started]]?

I abandoned my M-16 and my Ka-Bar and my left hand. I ran, hugging what remained of my arm, warmth—blood—spreading against my chest. I took the stairs down and sprinted through hallways. I expected the walls to start crumbling, the palace itself to come down to avenge him. But once I reached the ground floor, it was only my ragged breath I could hear. The palace was still, the marble floors settled, firm, [[unbreakable]].

The start of each mission presented a fresh grudge and a fresh hatred. Any truce was brittle, shattering on the hard, hard land. I died, but so what? When I came back, I killed. I used my rifle, grenades, broken bottles, flamethrowers, my carbon steel knife. //Forever War// let you get creative. I hacked up the bodies of the dead. I dragged them into the street. I let the Humvees from our convoy run them over. Jackson, Olivieri, Nelson, Tran. These were my dead, and I wanted revenge. And I got it, again and again, until I was bored. When was Ada going to come back? Had it been hours, or even days? I started having [[those thoughts]] again.

Occasionally, when I entered an area I recognized, I relived the split-seconds of the explosion that ate my limbs and chewed up my life. The fire that had broken into our tank shimmered like the sun on the brightest water. It came with a colossal bang. Although...my ears had probably melted away instantly, so maybe I didn’t actually hear it, only felt it. My brain had definitely been fucked up, because from the rest of the war, I only had splinters: glittering streams of orange, maybe the tracer bullets from our machine guns; Velcro patches slapped onto my uniform and then ripped off and replaced with each promotion they gave me; a cryptic tattoo encircling the calf that was no longer attached to me; and the eleven orders of a sentry. I had wanted my tattoo to read //kill kill kill// in Arabic. I wanted to look hard, I wanted to //feel// scary, I wanted even my blown-off limbs to look threatening. But the guy who gave it to me was high and wrote //mellon// a bunch of times in Tengwar, a script invented by an English professor named John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. Maybe that was for the best. The script, like Arabic, was beautiful and I knew deep down we weren’t fighting monsters, only people, only the children of daughters like me. I had prayed for my hatred to keep me from being killed, but here I was. A killer and a ghost, with the memory of a tattoo that said //[[friend]]//.

I decided to go out to find “my” road in the game—where the insurgents had killed our tank. That was beyond the city’s boundaries. Every time I got that far out into the desert, the game sent me back to where I’d started. I kept trying anyway. I had this idea that somewhere beyond the rippling hot horizon was the place where my friends had //crossed over//. Once I got there, I hoped, more memories would come back to me. Those shared memories. The ones that had bound us together. Where we’d met, what we’d done. We must have eaten together, showered together, talked to each other, played games, listened to music. We must have been [[human together]] once upon a time. (display: "Save Game") (group: 'playing', 'stop')

The “bad ones.” The questions that got me messed up before we even deployed. The forever war was about revenge, but against who? All our enemies were dead. We were fighting their children’s children. We were fighting against our parents’ and grandparents’ decisions. We could never stand up against the people who raised us, so we droned [[the people across the sea]].

Sunlight, fresh and steady, entered through the gray curtains across the window. I narrowed my eyes—//my eyes//—and peered down my nose—//my nose//—at my body. Tubes snaked out of my nostrils. An IV was stuck in my left arm. In my chest, something thrummed like a motor. Maybe it was a heartbeat. Carefully, I rubbed the fingers of my right hand together, index finger and thumb circling against each other. Touch. My heart thrummed louder—I could hear it. My left hand curled against my side. At my bed stood a man I didn’t recognize. He wore a white coat and held a small notebook. He looked at me. “Morning, sleepyhead.” He waved a blurry hand. “Can you see me?” I glanced at the bed next to mine. It was [[empty]].

Behind us was Chapter Three of //Wayfarers//, a slog through gray marshes that had filled the landscape from one virtual horizon to the other. There Ada and I had left behind the wreckage of a nine-headed marsh hydra. All its faces were of the same woman—our (characters’) mother—and we broke and scattered them among the snarled weeds. Before that, there’d been other skirmishes, with skeletons and an armor-plated squid that sprayed black ink. And before that, before //Wayfarers//, there had been [[the real war|realwar1]].

$m[Kill the hatchlings before they kill you. [[Get ’em!]] `< `//Back to [[game library]]//]

The monsters had tentacles and at least a dozen eyes. Their mouths had double rows of teeth. But when they hatched, their eyes were so huge that they were the cutest things I had ever seen. It seemed a shame to kill them. I played through a few rounds until I figured out the pattern. If I worked hard during the first 60 seconds, there would only be one or two full-grown monsters to dice up at the end. If I was feeling suicidal, I sometimes let all fifteen eggs hatch so they could devour my avatar. I got good quickly, and the game welcomed me onto the leaderboard. It was a stone obelisk, initials raked into it as if by claws. The only other person with a top score was ''SGT''. SGT was probably another patient. I was grateful for those three letters. I was in an empty arcade, but somebody else had been here. $m[`< `//Back to [[game library]]//]

Safe. The forever war had never knocked on my door. //I// had chased it. So maybe I belonged [[in this game|trading game2]].

My vision wasn’t great. She put her hands in mine so I could feel them. She was blurry, pale, even ghostly, and wrapped in warm-weather clothes. Her palms were cool and moist with sweat. Her touch felt unfamiliar. Did she notice I didn’t remember her name? “I was nervous as shit coming here,” she said. I didn’t want to talk to her, not with my wretched new voice. I sounded like a smoker who’d been punched in the throat. My lipless mouth had years of practice ahead of it. I used the computer to message her. $x[''$name:'' were you worried about what I looked like?] “No. They showed me photos.” $x[''$name:'' how fun] She kept her hands in mine and then suddenly she reached up and touched—my face. I shut my eyes and tried to capture that sudden warmth against my cheek. “What do you remember about me?” What a funny question. She was my sister. What else was there to know? $x[''$name:'' You’re a student] “I graduated a long time ago. I became a programmer. I have a pretty good career.” $x[''$name:'' how long have I been here?] She chose not to answer directly. “I got married. We have a dog. I moved out of [[mom’s old house]].”

$x[''$name:'' you sold our house?] I wanted to scream. I lived in that house after my sister left for school. Before I deployed. All my things. My home. My life. “Don’t be mad. I held out as long as I could, but you weren’t here.” $x[''$name:'' i was HERE] $x[''$name:'' so what’s waiting for me if i leave this place? more hospitals? then what? the streets? or are you planning to take me home to your perfect life?] “You want to come back with me?” Her voice quivered. Like she was //happy//. “I was afraid you were going to ask for my permission...” $x[''$name:'' permission?] “You made me your health proxy. Didn’t they explain that I’m still making your health decisions?” $x[''$name:'' what?] She took a shaky breath. “I thought you were going to ask me for permission to go back in the field. Like mom did.” $x[''$name:'' mom died] [[“She didn’t.”]]

In a few months, I could use my arms and could grip well enough to navigate the halls in my wheelchair. The doctors started asking me to think about what I wanted to do next. How did I feel about navigating the civilian world in my wheelchair, with my little messaging console? How did I feel about closing my eyes and waking up inside a new weapon, in full mastery of my mechanical body, literally at the vanguard of the next stage of human consciousness? Both options made me lonely. I wondered if, having seen the real world, Ada would still pick to go home. The security guards had one of the rooms all to themselves when they had downtime. They had a TV there with a game console hooked up, a tangle of wires and controllers on the round wooden table between the couches. I’d tried peeking in before to see what was up, but they always seemed to block my view. Today, though, it was empty. Whoever had been playing had left their game on the “Pause” screen. I wheeled up to the table and poked through what they’d left there. Potato chip bags, a few oily napkins. I picked up one of the greasy controllers and unpaused the game. The landscape was instantly familiar. [[//Forever War.//|I was in a tank...]]

The road ahead of us glowed almost white in the heat. There was another shack up ahead. Smoke billowed from it into the blue sky. A little girl stood outside the doorway. Her skin was black with dirt, or pink where it’d been split open. I dismounted and walked up to her. The whites of her eyes stood out against the grime. Her mouth hung half-open. Her small, dirtied hands [[reached for me]].

I thought what we’d done had meant something. We killed the Crosspatch Bear. I killed Ozymandias. Where were her fucking chickens that we’d saved? I thought we’d saved her parents, too. Then the girl pointed behind me. I looked in time to see the blast rip through the Bradley. A black cloud exploded out of it, seething with red and orange. I heard my buddies’ screams over the radio, and I felt the pain [[again|gameoverscreen]]—

I vomited directly into my lap. When the security guards found me, I couldn’t move my arms anymore. It was like they weren’t part of me. One of the guards, the one I’d asked about Ada, cradled my head as I slid out of the chair. I stared at the game screen over his shoulder. Someone had unplugged the TV. It was [[black]].

When I came to, the doc leveled with me. This delusional “episode” had set me back in my recovery. No shit. As my recovery process began yet again, the docs and I both realized how damaged my original memories were. That little suburb I’d grown up in—I only remembered that eight-house village from //Wayfarers//. I didn’t remember Mom or Dad, only the mother figure from the game. I remembered my sister, or at least, I remembered her visit. Once upon a time, she had said, “....don’t come back.” What had she said before that? What had we been talking about? I kept trying to fill in that blank. Sometimes, in the flickering between waking and sleeping, I could see her face—but then that face faded and was replaced by another face, a scarred and cut-up one, one that barely looked human—my face. I dreamt about the pool at the palace. When I had looked down at the water, whose face had I seen? I kept trying to picture it, trying to add eyes, a nose, a mouth, a voice. Then one day, I remembered suddenly what her tattoo had said, the one she tried to show me during her visit. $wp[Caminante, no hay camino.] [[And what she had said.]]

“Hey,” he said. “Pal,” I said, “see my…?” I gestured at my face. “Glasses?” “Uh-huh.” “Hmm. I’ve got my hands full right now. Why don’t you take a look?” He hauled the heavy cardboard box onto the counter beside him. $wpp[Lost] was written on the side. I wheeled up to it and slid the box closer to me. I noticed he had a prosthetic that extended from his left knee. I motioned to it. He gave me a searching look. “Yeah…” He tapped the side of his head. “I’ve got a plate in here, too.” He turned back to his monitor. I went through the patterned scrubs, umbrellas, and scarves that had accumulated over the years. The clothes smelled like moist cotton balls, though everything smelled like saline-soaked cotton balls to me now. Something heavy slid around in the bottom of the box and thunked against the sides. I wrapped my hand around the end of it and lifted—it was the [[Gunblade]].

The leather-wrapped grip was warm in my hand. I sighted down the length of the blade. These fucking doctors. They didn’t tell me the TBI would make me flat-out crazy. “Find ’em?” “Huh?” I slipped the Gunblade beneath the other lost items. “Your glasses.” “No,” I said. I looked at him again. “I know you?” “Yeah?” He smiled. “How?” “Like the...SGT.” I remembered the busted-in nose. “Jackson.” “I thought the desert had turned your brain into slurry. I guess who’s the fool now.” “It still did.” I had just found an impossible weapon in the Lost and Found box. Then I smiled. Something warm was growing in me—Jackson was alive. SGT Jackson. The guy who couldn’t stand eating side-by-side with us at the mess hall, said we ate like pigs, acted like he always had somewhere more important to be. A little banged up, a few years older. He had a beard now, speckled with gray. He belonged on the field of battle, yet here he was working the nurses’ station. Alive—? I used my communication device to message him. $x[''$name:'' Did you survive?] $x[''SGT:'' I came back] He had messaged me, and the text darted across my vision. I was slipping between realities. The hospital, the game world, the war. Somehow all three were vivid, tangible, here. $x[''$name:'' Is that the same as surviving?] [[He sighed.]]

In the physical therapy room, the medicine balls were racked neatly, the hand weights color-coordinated. The foam rollers were arranged by firmness. The long tables were draped with paper, waiting for patients. They were always empty when I had my appointments. The days went by, and with the therapies came the pain. Maybe the doctors were right to have put me in those games. I was done with my rage. I’d learned patience. The minutes and hours passed slowly, but they passed. $x[''$name:'' It’s not enough ''DOCTOSIN:'' You completed the mission. ''$name:'' where is ada? <span class="textlink">[[Who was she?]]</span>]

I started asking around. Someone must know who Ada was. A woman soldier. Ally. Amelia. Abigail. ADA. I tried to describe her, but she would have looked nothing like her avatar. She had a tattoo of stars, I said. She once told me that she had a stick and poke of Ursa Major on her real body. She was dead, I said. Or close to it. One of the security guards gave it to me straight. “You have no clue, buddy. You have no clue how many of you there are.” I imagined the other floors I didn’t have access to. Rows and rows of hospital beds, little privacy curtains dividing them... I had to wonder what mandate the doctors had for saving us. On the battlefield, I would have gone back for every last remnant of my friends, dead or alive, but how much of us did these doctors need to save? How small a scrap of human would I have needed to be, to be allowed to die? In the end, I did what anyone else would have done in my situation. (link-reveal: "I got by.")[ [[Then my sister arrived.]]]

I was in a tank with a few generic teammates. The on-screen map showed the familiar city layout. I felt an almost reflexive heat across my forehead and face, a vivid memory, as if I were back in the desert again. I shook off the feeling. We had just rolled beyond the wire into a neighborhood that the game said was “swarming with insurgents.” Our mission was to meet with a local leader who might, if we negotiated well, provide guidance as we attempted to establish a water supply route for civilians. And if the negotiations fell through—which I assumed would be the case—there would be a firefight. I was not interested. I moved our Bradley off course. Pedestrians scurried out of the way, and dusty civilian vehicles jumped curbs to avoid us. My buddies’ rote dialogue chimed in: $fg[(align:"==><===")[Hey. The convoy’s that-a-way. You sure this is the right way? I don’t see any insurgents here. Dumber than a box of rocks. Where the fuck you going?] ] It didn’t take too long for the apartments to give way to the shacks I remembered. Their windows were dark, the glass blown out. A laundry line with only a shirt or two might be strung from one window to the next. The walls were cracked and pitted. A few had collapsed. Up ahead, on the horizon, [[something was churning]].

“It’s not over,” he said. “The war, it’s not over. Our grandparents and their parents started it, and if we don’t end it...” $x[''$name:'' you mean the last generation? there’s no winning. ever heard of a pyrrhic victory?] “We can. We’re turning the tide. Tran, Nelson, Olivieri, they went back already. And they’re stronger than ever. They’re not in a tank, they //are// the tank. You’re the only one missing. You’re the only one who hasn’t decided.” $x[''$name:'' I can’t even walk. I can’t even see.] “That body is dying. It wasn’t meant to last. They have other bodies waiting for us. Machines.” //Us.// Jackson had stayed for me. It hit me then, [[what my sister had said]]. She had said our mom faced hospice if she left the hospital.

//“______, don’t come back.”// So was it all a trick? Was there really only a choice between fighting the war, and dying in hospice? Mom chose redeployment as a ghost in the machine. That was what crushed our father—to think mom preferred to keep killing on the battlefield than live her last days with us, as anything less than what she had been. What [[secret, third thing]] had my sister hoped for me?

$x[''$name:'' Did you play Wayfarers?] “I did for a little while.” $x[''$name:'' Did you see the CH-47?] “That game has a lot of secrets. I didn’t see everything.” He patted my arm. “It’s fucking hard. None of these docs have been where we’ve been.” He frowned. “Are you okay?” He was watching my face. “My” face. My real face was lost somewhere in the reflections of that sky-colored pool. I looked down at the hand that had touched the Gunblade. “My” hand. My real hand was lost in that desert of broken statues. The defeated. “I’m sorry,” he was saying. “I really am. If I could do it again, things would be different. For one—I’d bring you back. All of you.” He took a deep breath. “I’d carry each and every last one of you sons of bitches back.” //A secret third thing//, my sister had said. A game //full of secrets.// Different exits. My sister Addie had done something. She was trying to save me somehow. I tried to croak out a laugh. “What’s so funny?” “I…want to go back,” I said. “You do?” He stared at me hard and then, understanding me, threw back his head. “Oh man, you are serious. You’re crazy.” I grabbed his wrist. I squeezed it as hard as I could, trying to convince myself that this was Jackson, the real Jackson. This was the man I remembered, and if he truly had waited all this time for me, he would help me. “I want to save someone. I need to go back. I have to at least //try// to find her.” His eyes were twinkling—no, actually, everything was starting to sparkle. All the lights and reflections on the counters and walls were glowing, almost shooting sparks. “Answer this, then. [[One more question.]]”

“Look at me straight. You don’t need your glasses for this. Would you like to (transition-delay: 2s)+(transition-time: 3s)[$wt[continue with Journey+?”] ] (transition-delay: 3s)+(transition: "dissolve")[This was the gift my sister the game programmer had given me. A chance, a choice. Even if it meant I only had one more play-through. One more chance to land on that beach under that star-studded dawn. Another chance to share a memory. If we could escape the war, even for a little while, that would be a victory. I wanted it. [[Yes.]] ]

He pointed to the end of the hall, where I could now see the faintly illuminated “exit” sign. The frog had told me there was no going back over my footsteps. Whatever roads I’d already gone down were closed to me now. And yet I’d been to that domed palace twice in one lifetime. Who said there couldn’t be a third time? Once I was through that door, I could make Wayfarer choices. I could bend the adventure different ways. I wouldn’t have to go to the sea again, or the swamp, or the castle. This time, I would go straight to that old blacksmith from the valley. I would give him everything Ada and I had left in our inventory—gold, quartz, magic crystals, feathers, beads, bones, necklaces. He would hammer the pieces together and upgrade my Moon Gauntlet. He would improve it, again and again, until it could summon not just the moon but any star in the sky. Until it could summon the seven stars from the Nightmare Cloak. Until it could summon the soldier I’d left behind. “So what are you thinking?” SGT said. [[I grabbed the Gunblade.]]

{<style> tw-sidebar { display: none; } </style> <div class="wrapper"> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> </div>} <div class="box-area"> <div class="text-area"><h1>Wayfarers</h1> <h2><div class="pulse-element">$d[ [[➵ Journey+|Game Credits]] ]</div> </h2> </div> </div> (track: 'wayfarers', 'play')

$c[How to Play] This interactive story includes clickable text links that allow you to navigate it. If you need to go back to a previous passage, you can use the navigation arrows within the story. At times, you may not be able to go back. Once you begin, you will be dropped into the game at Chapter 4. Don’t worry. You are exactly where you need to be. $c[How to Save] On occasion, you will be able to save your spot in the story by clicking a “Save Game” link. Your game save will be stored as a cookie in your browser. If cookies cannot be stored for some reason, the game save will fail and you will see a note telling you so. $c[How to Continue from a Previous Save] If you would like to continue from a previous save, you can {(if: (saved-games: ) contains "Slot A")[ (link: "pick up where you left off here.")[(load-game:"Slot A")] ]}

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Ada and I were back in the game. We slaughtered those fucking bats. We worked through the eastern woods together. We plundered the hidden chests. Then we found a bear in a bronze helmet. $x[''ADA:'' <span class="textlink">[[🐻 !!!|!!!]]</span>] (track: 'wayfarers', 'fadein', 3)

A ribbon of text swirled across my vision. $wt[Salvage nothing from this place.] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay: 3s)[ [[..............]]]

This avatar was not the real Ada. Her eyes wouldn’t have been so large or blue in real life. She wouldn’t have been able to smile like this, or at all. The real Ada had been a chopped-up piece of flesh like me. And between the infections and the surgeries, the meds and whatever else the docs had given her, whatever more pain they’d put her through, she was gone. Maybe on the mountain—when she winked out and then came back, robot-like. Maybe that was when I lost her, and wished her back. Then she—it—the avatar—the game—reached for my hand, and a feeling came over me, as if [[we still had bodies to share]].

Sepia-toned sequences of our adventures drifted into view, retelling our journey: $wt [(t8n: "fade-up")+(transition-time: 2s)[We entered the Mystery Ride.] (t8n: "fade-up")+(transition-time: 3s)[We fought off the squid that tried to sink our little boat.] (t8n: "fade-up")+(transition-time: 4s)[We smashed skeletons in the castle crypt.] (t8n: "fade-up")+(transition-time: 5s)[We waded through the haunted swamps and found the bridge to the farmer’s field and chicken coop.] (t8n: "fade-up")+(transition-time: 6s)[We spent the night at an inn.] (t8n: "fade-up")+(transition-time: 7s)[I followed her into the woods, and then she followed me to the mountain.] ] (t8n: "dissolve")+(transition-delay: 6s)[And then she was [[gone]].] (group: 'playing', 'stop') (track: 'wayfarers', 'play')

$x[''DOCTOSIN:'' Hey there, buddy. How’s it going? ''DOCTOSIN:'' Are you ready for what comes next? ''$name:'' Do I have a <span class="textlink">[[choice|My choice.]]</span>?] (track: 'wayfarers', 'fadeout', 3)

$x[''$name:'' are we winning?] “Hermanita...” She used the diminutive. Was I so small now, that I was hers to care for? $x[''$name:'' what kind of choice is this] “I’m doing my best. All right? I’ve done as much as I can for you. I wish I could have done more. But I’ve...” I couldn’t tell if she was crying, but her voice was thick in my patched-up ears. “You can come home, if you want. There is a place for you with my family. We’ve been preparing for you. Or you can go back to the war. You can join your friends while they fight to end it. Or...” She laughed, cracking. “Maybe there is some secret, third thing.” $x[''$name:'' this isn’t funny] “If you’re mad at me, it’s your own fault. //You// asked me to be your health proxy. I didn’t want it. So figure out what you want to do next, and let me know. I refuse to decide for you.” She was scratching her arms as if she was nervous. She yanked up her left sleeve and pulled it back, so I glimpsed a script tattooed along the inside of her forearm. “Do you remember this?” I couldn’t see more than a blur, and she should have known that. I snapped. $x[''$name:'' stop playing games] She stood up to leave. $x[''$name:'' wait] $x[''$name:'' do they really salvage everything? anything? even pieces of us?] “They found ways to mesh slivers of humanity with the new arsenal. Mom only had...you never saw her, but she was a fragment. She was so little of who she’d been, it hurt to see her. But last week I received a report that she’s been...effective...in the war.” $x[''$name:'' so i could be effective too. i could go back and finish the fight?] “I have always believed in choices. And I think...you have to ask yourself what you believe.” My sister left, and she didn’t [[come back]]. (display: "Save Game") (group: 'playing', 'stop')

We stopped at an inn to refuel. We asked the innkeeper if he knew anything about our (characters’) missing father. He had abandoned our mother to go search for ancient texts, mine dream-inducing crystals, and spread stories about a gilded future. The rumors said he’d passed through here. Whenever he came up, Ada reminded me we had to make him pay our in-game mom some child support. The innkeeper claimed he had heard of a man who promised a future where life was precious, where every day was a series of cherished moments. How could such a place be possible? He had no further clues for us. $x[''ADA:'' do you think this is how the 100 year war will start?] This was one of the game’s central mysteries. Our characters were time travelers, coming from a time after the battles had already begun. Muddling through the past, we kept coming back to this question of how it all began. The inn was at the top of a slope, sheltered by two trees that crossed over the pathway like a pair of swords. At the base of the hill began the dark, blurry blob of the poorly rendered forest. The woods were a mass of identical trees rotated to different angles, some plotted closer together, some further apart, a reminder that none of this was real. The trunks closed in around us, blotting out the orange sunset until [[I couldn’t see Ada at all]].

When Tosin wasn’t checking in, the job of monitoring us fell to the NPCs—the non-player characters. They nagged us with questions like this to make sure we never forgot there was still a real world out there, where we were blind, deaf, dumb, and four limbs short of a full set. I guess it wouldn’t have been ideal for the doctors to unplug the interface and find we were convinced we were actual Wayfarers. Ada answered the frog’s first two questions. She won two gold coins. I waited for her to finish the whole set, but it seemed she was done. I answered the last questions, and the frog grudgingly gave up a Phoenix Feather. Then he hopped away. We were quiet for a while, and Ada fell in step [[behind me]]. (display: "Save Game")

$fp[<span class="fwlink"> [[GAME OVER]]</span>] (group: 'playing', 'stop') (track: 'boom', 'play')

(font: "Arial")[(align:"=><=")[''Game Rules''] 1. Break the eggs before they hatch. 2. Murder the hatchlings before they grow. 3. Kill the adults before you die.] (font: "Arial")+(align:"=><=")[//Here’s your broadsword. [[Go!]]//]

I used the bridle to steal a pony and ride it up the far side of the valley. At the top of the rise, we clip-clopped up to a small hut with an opening cut into its thatched roof. The end of a great black telescope emerged from it. The massive lens gleamed with reflected light. An old hermit in a white dressing gown [[welcomed]] me at the door. (display: "Save Game")

Beyond the woods, the path turned rocky. It was dawn, and we were hiking up the side of a blue-gray mountain. I found myself ruminating on what Ada had asked about whether I truly believed we’d get our bodies back. I knew I’d never be the same. Mentally, physically. But I did believe if we could just keep moving, we’d show the doctors we were ready to go to the real world. Even now, I wanted to feel how brisk the air was. I wanted to feel the stones beneath my avatar’s feet. As the slope grew steeper, I remembered what it had been like, before my Alive Day, to hike mountains with my assault pack—to lift my legs on the steep rises, to find the right footing, to have balance. I remembered sex. I remembered being embraced, kissed, held. By whom, I couldn’t remember, but I knew I had been loved. I wanted to look over my shoulder and see Ada—the real Ada. I had assumed she was a woman, but what did either of us know about each other [[beyond our words]]?

An old man fished from the boat, and when we asked about the gleaming building in the distance, he said: $wt[That’s the Seven-Domed Palace. They say there was a battle there not too long ago. Lucky to be out here, nobody interrupts my fishing. Pretty safe on this side of the water.] (t8n: "dissolve")+(t8n-delay: 3s)[Which meant, of course, that we had to get to [[that side of the water]].]

“Mom was //missing//. And after they found her, she had to recover, like you.” $x[''$name:'' how do you know all this?] “You know it, too.” The empty patches in my memory were exposing themselves like stains under UV light. She was silent, and I hated it. She had a mouth. She could speak. She had a family now. People who shared her life. A career doing something that didn’t involve this endless war, apparently. She had //escaped// our fucked-up legacy. I had lost everyone, and it hurt so much that I even missed Ada, who I never met in person, because at least she was somebody who knew what it meant to live like this. “Whatever you remember...” My sister started to talk, but I interrupted her. $x[''$name:'' you can fuck off now] She stood up. “Okay. But you need to know this. Mom was where you are, but worse. I had her medical power of attorney then, too. And she said she didn’t want to come home the way she was. If she had, she would basically have gone straight to hospice. So she decided she wanted to help end the war for us. And I...have always believed in choices.” $x[''$name:'' she redeployed?] “They’ve salvaged so many of you. They call you that. Salvage. Because there is so little left. And they don’t call it redeployment. They call it salvation. They say the people who make this choice will be our salvation. The war will be won by this [[last generation]].”

Story Background: ''Main text:'' Text: #fff Background: #202020 Link color : #52B7FF (blue) Color after clicking: #43bab4; ''Messaging system:'' Regular text: #33E8DF ''Wayfarers:'' pink color: #F26DF9 ''Forever War:'' in-game text: #dedede

I had to //make a choice//. After this, there was //no going back//. //So I should think really hard before I made this irrevocable decision.// There were still people out there, in the real world, who needed this war to end. And I could [[help fight to make that happen]]. But something bugged me. On one of the hospital televisions, I had seen a video clip of some kind of diplomatic function. There were captured the most powerful men on the planet. In their black and blue suits, they smiled with twinkling blue eyes. My old buddies were driving the equipment these men had invested in. My mother was probably flying the plane built by the research they had funded. It was an alchemy, the way that blood could be spilled profitably and become gold. And the more gold there was, the more they wanted. How could any one of us compete with wealth that spanned centuries? It might be better to use this chance to [[stop my own brutality and accept, with dignity, my last days.]] I wished I knew what had happened to Ada. If, like my sister had said, they really could preserve mere slivers of us, maybe Ada was still out there. Maybe she had redeployed back to the battlefield, or gone home to that place beneath the seven stars. Maybe she was still //here//. Would I be foolish if I stayed in this gray hospital and looked for her? She could still be hooked up to the machines. She might be up for a game of //Words with Strangers// with me. //Quantum.// //Syzygy.// I could [[chase her ghost]]. I thought about it for weeks. At last, my decision did not surprise me. I had always been walking toward this destiny.

//“If it comes down to it, //you //can decide for yourself. Decide if you want to see me again, or if I should make sure you...don’t come back.”// Now I remembered why I had picked my sister to be my health proxy. I had wanted her to save me. To let me die. But she hadn’t. She wanted me to choose what I wanted, what I believed. And now, as I resumed my recovery, it was coming down to [[time to decide]]. (display: "Save Game") (group: 'playing', 'stop')

I had been embedded in a drone, a descendant of the MQ-9 Reaper. The wind lashed me furiously. An array of optical, thermal, and infrared sensors mapped the world below me. I sensed forests, canals, monuments, prairies, rice paddies, all sorts of features, all sorts of treasures. I carried enough ordnance to scratch all of it. My sister would no longer contact me. But my mom had already sent me a message through the internal network. She was proud of me. She said: $fp[I look forward to working with you someday, my sweet little salvage.] Right now, I was only doing surveillance. I had no combat experience in //this //body. It was not a bad mission, coasting beneath the skies. At the same time, I was trapped. Any deviation from the mission would be construed as a traitorous act, and I would be blown to pieces by my own handler. Then my handler would simply upload a clean copy of me and send me back up into the clouds. “You should have stayed human,” my sister had begged, as if humanity had so much going for it. All I had known was fear and loss and helplessness. None of my memories felt safe. I couldn’t even save my friend [[in a video game]].

I had her there. I had asked the docs about her, and they’d read me her public profile. “I heard even you were in the Army.” “I didn’t see combat,” she said quickly. “I was a programmer for them. Later I worked for a contractor and helped create the software that rebuilt the minds who went through what you did. Then I moved to the rehab games.” “Did you work on //Wayfarers//?” “I did.” Night was falling. It was so dark I could see the stars through the sunroof. A commercial plane swooped low and loud, heading toward some nearby airport. I had to look forward to the sunrises and sunsets ahead of me. Purple, blue, pink, orange, yellow, all for my new eyes to take in. “I played that game with someone else,” I said. “I played with her a long time... I was hoping I could find her in one of the hospital beds.” “There are a lot of exits in that game. The hospital is just one of them.” I looked at the rearview mirror. My sister’s eyes gazed into the distance. I said, “Did you leave a trace of yourself in the game, [[Addie]]?”

But I had hope. In this digital-mental landscape, I listened to the chatter of the other drones that combed the wild blue yonder. I had hope that I would find a ghost who remembered our journey through //Wayfarers//. But when I wasn’t of thinking about Ada, I thought about //Arena//. I wondered what it meant that I could not imagine an //Arena// that took us home. Maybe the only peace that existed was make-believe. Or maybe it belonged to a future that could not include Ada or me. Maybe its birth and our deaths were intertwined. I looked forward, at least, to some far-away moment when I might be able to give up the fight, and let the thermals carry me until I settled on some lonely place, a perch on this [[beautiful, motherless place called earth|The End]].

{<style> tw-sidebar { display: none; } </style> <div class="wrapper"> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> <span><p>★</p></span> </div> <div class="box-area">} <div class="text-area"><h1>The End</h1> <h2>$d[Thank you for playing. <br/> Story and Game by Gina Isabel Rodriguez<br/> Original Music by OSUKASU<br/> Built in Twine 2 with Harlowe 3]</h2> </div> </div> (live: 5s)[(goto: "Game Credits")] (track: 'wayfarers', 'play')

My sister Adaline said, “The Three Synchronous Jewels were my back door, $name. My sign. So no matter how much time or space separated us, I could find you again. “I made a sacrifice, hermanita.” She pulled back a hunk of her brown hair and traced a finger behind her right ear. I leaned forward to see the rope of scar. “I let them salvage a piece of me for their collection, to use in the game, to push you, and others, and in return, I got to save you.” She loved me. It hit me so hard and suddenly, like I had been slapped. I wanted to cry but I had cried so much already. I reached between the front seats and put my hand in hers. I squeezed it as hard as I could, which still was not very hard at all. I pushed my mouth against her skin. My beautiful, brave sister. I wanted to know her again. We had been on separate journeys, and [[here we were, at the end|The End]].

--- {$wpp [ `[` (link:"Save Game.")[ (if:(save-game:"Slot A"))[ Success! ](else: )[ Unable to Save. ] ] `] ` ] }

$wt[There is a place called Nowhere, at the end of all things. Not even your father has dared step foot there. It might be time to see what has become of him. <span class="textlink2">[[Find him.|Yes]]</span>]

$wt[There is a story about the Ship of Theseus. After he saved the children from a labyrinth //not unlike the one in which we now find ourselves//, the great hero gifted his ship to his people. Every year thereafter, his people would sail this vessel across the seas in honor of his triumph. Again and again, the crew made repairs, replacing broken parts, so they could maintain this tradition. At the end of a journey across centuries, when not a single original board nor nail nor stitch of sail remains, will this still be that same ship that carried the great hero? <span class="textlink2">[[Where does your soul dwell?|nowhere else]]</span> ]

{(set: _typewriterText to " lolz") }Ada led me down to where the farmer and his family were quivering, clutching the last of their chickens, their little girl cowering. She blinked at us with thick, tear-dewed lashes and (link-reveal: "said:")[$wt[Won’t you help us, stranger?] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2s)[Ada told her “no way.” Her chicken jumped from her arms and (link-reveal: "started pecking me.")[ [$x[ ''ADA:''` `{  (set: _typewriterPos to 1)  |typewriterOutput>[]  (live: 20ms)[  (append: ?typewriterOutput)[(print: _typewriterText's _typewriterPos)]  (set: _typewriterPos to it + 1)  (if: _typewriterPos is _typewriterText's length + 1)[ (stop:) ] ] } ] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:1s)[Oh man, stop fucking around. Of course we were going after the Crosspatch Bear. Ada and I never turned down an adventure. We could not. We had learned there was [[nowhere else|pawprints]] for us to go.]]] ] ]

The paw prints led to the forest, but the little girl warned us that evil things lingered there. $x[''ADA:'' no trigger warnings needed, <span class="textlink">[[sweetheart]]</span>. we know all about evil]

Both Ada and I had left the battlefield in medevacs. She and I were the eighth and ninth quadruple amputees from our brigade. Her helicopter was shot down over the desert. Everyone in my tank burned. Our ghosts could have held hands and jumped to the Other Side together. But our Alive Days were the days we //didn’t// die. We were veterans now, and subject to the VA’s schemes for returning soldiers. The VA’s interface tapped into my brain directly, so I could “see” game images through my now-gone eyes. I could even “hear” in-game music. While my sedated body recovered, my mind could have its own life. So we had [[no real choice]].

(set: $name to (prompt: "What is your name?", "ZERO"))$x[''ADA:'' omgosh! what a kewl name, $name] I guess she was real! And a [[bitch]].

$x[''ADA:'' what do we do with these?] I checked the description of the jewel in my inventory. $wt[//A Synchronous Jewel// One of a set of three, forever linked through time. Thought to have been lost at sea after the sinking of a great ship, these were in fact hoarded by a many-suckered squid until they surfaced again.] $x[''$name:'' linked through time?] $x[''ADA:'' i wonder] Ada ran partway up the first scrubby dune, and paused mid-step. A sea breeze ruffled her hair. Her avatar shifted slightly, its chest rising and lowering, as if breathing. I walked up to her and tried to hit her, wake her. She was [[frozen]].

We dodged to the [[right]].

To the [[left]].

Then Ada threw her Nightmare Cloak over us and we [[escaped]] the creeping icicles.

After a few rounds of running and ducking under this shield, we got close enough for Ada to smack him around with her Gunblade. Then I bonked him on the head with my fist. His [[last words]] were surprisingly serious amid the squishy sound effects.

$x[''ADA:'' my dad, your mom, i think they’re still out there. Not their bodies. Their minds. they’re still dropping bombs and pulling triggers. ''ADA:'' And I think they’ll take the pieces of us they need and send us back out there, too. ''$name:'' wouldn’t that cost billions ''ADA:'' They’ll run out of people before they run out of money. ''ADA:'' you don’t have to believe me. ''$name:'' i don’t ''ADA:'' but <span class="textlink">[[how else]]</span> can we keep this war going forever?]

wayfarers: ./audio/wayfarers-theme.mp3 boom: ./audio/boom.mp3 dawn: ./audio/dawn.mp3 glitch: ./audio/glitch.mp3 wingbeats: ./audio/wingbeats.mp3 boss: ./audio/boss.mp3

(t8n:"dissolve")+(transition-time:2s)+(font: "Lovers Quarrel")+(css: "font-size: 250%;")[Once upon a time...] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:4s)[Our ancestors fired the first bullets. They cut the first throats.] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:6s)[Then they handed that violence down to their children.] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:9s)[And to their grandchildren.] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:11s)[Now here I am, their legacy, trying to put their pieces, and mine, back together.] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:15s)[If anyone is listening, I have few choices left. I must [[continue my journey.|Title]] ] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:4s)[ --- $wpp[ [[Skip Intro|Title]] ]]

And then I screamed. This game had been hiding its true power from me. None of this was real. My voice was a line of text. $x[''$name:'' what kind of SICK FUCK built this place????] The wind howled through the huge arches, stirring dust and sand. [[Ada must be inside.]]

As I entered the first hall, I slid along the wall and ducked behind a column. I scanned the alcoves ahead. Shadows nested in the corners. Sweat crept down my face. The temperature hovered in the healthy mid-nineties. I reached up to wipe my forehead, and my fingers touched the edge of my Kevlar helmet. After all this time, it should have felt strange to feel my body again. But it was mundane, so familiar. An old sweater still crusty with food stains, sweat, blood. Aside from the wind, the silence was creepy. I kept expecting a voice to crackle over the radio. Our squad leader. The sergeant. [[The dead.]]

I started to jog. I started to run. This was the end. Every second mattered. Every second was dragging me closer to the point of no return. I found my way up to the grand hall. The walls held gold and silver mosaics, and at the far end, behind the throne, there was a mural of the firepower the dictator would turn on his enemies. A mortal god’s thunderbolts. Missiles. Hunched on that velvet cushion was a man. He wore a black hat. He had a full, trailing white beard. His chin rested on his fist. He seemed to be asleep. I crouched as I drew closer. Maybe if I shot him now, I could kill him. As if the game had read my thoughts, the man lifted his face. [[He smiled.]]

$wt[My brave child, you dared. You came. In time to see me begin the conquering. I will wage a war that will never be forgotten. A war that outlasts memory. A war that lives forever. I will defeat time. Forget the gifts of peace our foolish ancestors believed they could give us. I have found the legacy you deserve. You will never lose your taste for life, your hunger for answers, for revenge, for freedom. The gift of war can never be <span class="textlink2">[[lost]]</span>.]

$wt[What will you do now, my child? There is no turning back now. <span class="textlink2">[[Fight.|option1]]</span> OR <span class="textlink2">[[Accept that this is where your journey ends.|option2]]</span>]

$x[''ADA:'' Congratulations.] [[She was not real.]]

I woke up. //He// woke up. //My avatar// woke in a nondescript bedroom in a no-name town. And in the second twin bed, there was [[a girl]]. (track: 'boss', 'stop') (track: 'wayfarers', 'fadein', 6)

$x[''$name:'' Oh god you’re alive] $x[''ADA:'' I had a dream. You were watching me through a telescope. What happened?] $x[''$name:'' I couldn’t even tell you] We went down to the Victory Day carnival. I noted how Ada walked. Graceful but a little loopy, like a bumblebee dancing its way through the flowers. This was her, right? Nothing about the carnival had changed, but now I saw everything anew. They were selling weapons amid the fun. Everyone was armed. Even the little girl, who ran out to tell us about the hubbub, carried a knife in her belt. She had a scar on her throat. I [[asked her]] about the war.

$wt[The Hundred Year War has only just begun, my papa tells me. We won’t see the end until the stars wink out. He says we can never forget that we deserve struggle.] She smiled. I told Ada this was my fault, but when she asked to know more, I didn’t want to say. Ada took my avatar’s hand in hers—something I didn’t realize you could do—and led me to one of the [[mini-games]].

The Water Passage, it was called. Behind the roughly painted plywood exterior, there were dozens of corridors, the game master explained. If we managed to find our way through, there would be treasure awaiting us. $x[''ADA:'' How much to play?] $wt[Your time.] Ada laughed. $x[''ADA:'' What do you think, $name? Now that we know we won’t hate each other?] She and I walked [[into the maze.]]

.(t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:1s)[.](t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:2s)[.] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:3s)[We have been here for some time now.] (t8n:"dissolve")+(t8n-delay:5s)[Some corridors are made of glass; others are made of mirrors. The floors have been flooded in two inches of clear water. We slosh and splash through passages. When we turn corners, we encounter a thousand reflections of the faces the game gave us. We cannot tell where we have already been. We hear echoes of others who might be moving through the maze, but maybe those are of our own making. We hold hands but feel nothing. We have found treasure chests and burst them open. They are filled with treasures. Ada wears bracelets and rings, and so do I. She found a crown and I am looking for one as well. We are growing heavy with gold and silver. Even if we wanted to retrace our steps, we couldn’t. We are still paying to play. With our time. When I try to tell her what happened with Ozymandias, I find the words won’t come. I have a premotion that if I tell her, our time together will end. $x[''$name:'' Ada, is this really you?] When she doesn’t respond right away, [[I turn around]].]

My avatar’s mother walked in: $wt[Good morning, sleepyheads.] And the girl in the bed turned to me. $x[''ADA:'' <span class="textlink">[[hey|hey2]]</span>]

Where has she gone? Another missing person, or a missing memory? Did I lose Ada here, or did she lose me? I see myself before a mirror, dressed now in fine clothes and jewels. Royalty. I could be a portrait on someone’s wall. Many people would be satisfied by this. When I turn the next corner, I see the exit to the maze. The water shines with the bright light of the [[outside world]].

$wt[What will you do now, my child? <span class="textlink2">[[Fight.|option3]]</span> OR <span class="textlink2">[[Accept that this is where your journey ends.|goodbye]]</span>]

There’d been a sandstorm. Patrols had been stopped for three days. When it cleared, Olivieri and I went out to look. He shouted at the sky, as if he’d been afraid we’d never see stars again. As I tongued the grit out of my teeth, I was struck by how clean the night was. Millions, millions of stars. And the two of us looking up. We were alone, it felt like. I never touched the guys, I never wanted to give them an excuse, but this time we grabbed each other’s hands and punched the sky with our fists. It felt like we, alone, could [[conquer the stars]].

$x[''ADA:'' you okay there? you stopped moving for a minute.] I had to shake myself out of it. I made up some excuse that I had only just now noticed the Big Dipper design on her cloak. $x[''ADA:'' it’s a mod. “Generous Tosin” got it for me. i got lost in the woods when I was a kid. I used Ursa Major to find Polaris and get home. I don’t have a lot of memories left like that one...I don’t have a lot of memories left, period] She’d never said something like that before and I choked on what to say next. $x[''ADA:'' No north star here, though. Only dead pixels in the sky] Then the clouds of [[bats descended|pause1]].

I didn’t know how much time had passed. Moments had slipped by the way they do in dreams, elastically. First the pain was there, and it felt like it would last a thousand infinities. Then, it was gone. I remembered it like an old grudge. The details were gone, and only the resentment remained. Whatever drugs these docs had put in me, they were good. I entered the [[game library]].

The spasming squid sent waves that propelled us forward, and we shattered the little boat against the other shore and stumbled up the sand. Long planks were strewn everywhere. The sun had come up and the sand had turned white and gold. Our avatars were both laughing, heads thrown back. //We// were laughing. $x[''$name:'' i whipped that oar around like excalibur!] $x[''ADA:'' i saved you from being eaten!] From the frothy surf emerged Three Synchronous Jewels for our victory. Red, green, and blue, all glimmering. They floated up from the water, and the blue one circled me, and the red one circled Ada. The green jewel split away and vanished, shooting up into the clear sky until it was a [[speck of light]].

(set: _typewriterText to "I see... I would have liked to see you again. But in the end, I am glad you had a choice. Goodbye...") $x[ ''???:''` `{  (set: _typewriterPos to 1)  |typewriterOutput>[]  (live: 60ms)[  (append: ?typewriterOutput)[(print: _typewriterText's _typewriterPos)]  (set: _typewriterPos to it + 1)  (if: _typewriterPos is _typewriterText's length + 1)[ (stop:) ] ] } ] (live: 12s)[(goto: "The End")]

TO DO LIST

In the hallway outside the break room, I heard voices. Maybe the guards were coming back to finish playing. If I wanted to see if “my” road was really out there, I better grab the Bradley and see [[how much further]] from the city I could go.

The little girl trailed after me. She spoke Arabic, but the (link-reveal: "game translated.")[ $wt[Can’t you help us, wayfarer?] (t8n-delay: 2s)+(t8n: "dissolve")[I looked at her again. I recognized the face beneath the dirt—this was the farmer’s daughter from //Wayfarers//, the little girl whose chicken had attacked me. A pair of flames licked up from the burning shack. I got closer to peer through the windows and open doorway. If her parents had been here—then they were probably dead, too. Nausea was hitting me in waves. The screen was so bright. The images all seemed to have a glimmering film around them. I turned to the girl, wishing I could grab her, [[shake her]].] ]