Over-Arched

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. So what the hell am I looking at?

I glance toward the minimap at the corner of the screen and confirm the area I’m observing is indeed just outside of the small town of Bellenview. The humble village and rolling fields that surround it are hemmed in by a sort of bowl of mountains, and the whole area is meant to serve as a tutorial locale for players.

So why have several high-level dragons just crested the northern mountains and begun loping through the mobs of giant rats toward the edge of Bellenview?

My eyes flit toward the second computer monitor and skim the stream of code still uploading with the most recent patch.

Mountains of Ash would be launching its beta this Monday, and this is meant to be the final update to iron out the most glaring bugs. The path to get here has been a bit longer than expected since a successful crowdfunding campaign over two years ago, and that means no more delays. No more disappointing forum posts asking our would-be fans to be patient just a little while longer. And no dragons in the starting area.

Nothing quite like logging into a beta for the first time and getting spawn-camped by an NPC. ‘Dead on arrival’ would inevitably be the phrase our first reviewers would use to describe the passion-project I’ve poured my heart and mind into for years… Whatever issue this is needs to be dealt with.

I grab my phone from beside the keyboard and begin to thumb out a message.

Hey, what code did you change in this patch? Some NPCs are going…

I sigh and backspace until the message is gone. It’s Friday night, and Jordan specifically stated he’s taking the weekend off before our lives become much more hectic with all the player input next week will bring. He’d suggested I do the same of course, but we both know better. My excuse of staying to ‘look over the patch’ was enough to convince him to leave me at the office two hours ago, but in reality I’m too… focused to just leave it at that. Critics might say ‘obsessive,’ but that doesn’t give the quality the strength it’s due. So yes, I’ll likely be here nitpicking at code for the entirety of the weekend, and that also means I can afford to give Jordan his well-deserved time off. It’s only been the two of us all this time after all, and even my overachieving mind can’t discount the fact that we’ve pulled off something pretty great with the time and resources available to us .

My chair squeaks as I spin away from the monitors and behold The Rig in the far corner of the room.

While programming has flourished into my dream job, virtual reality remains my hobby and as such has received the bulk of my spending money through the past two years. The result is an amalgamation of cutting edge tech brought together to try and create the most immersive experience possible, aka ‘The Rig.’ Ironically, Mountains of Ash isn’t even a virtual reality game. The average gamer just doesn’t have the hardware needed to make that venture truly worthwhile, so Jordan and I had gone the more conventional route in making an RPG that would appeal to a broader market. But that doesn’t stop me from putting my own spin on things.

I cross the room to the chassis in the corner, which most recently includes a laid back leather seat like one you might expect to see in a dentist’s office, but held up and partially surrounded by rounded metal bars reminiscent of a roll cage. The bars are actually part of an older piece of equipment, a half-gyroscope meant to help simulate movement in flight games, but it’s very recently become outdated and is now just used as a frame to hold things and neatly zip-tie otherwise chaotic clusters of wires into place.

I take my seat on the black chair at the center of the Rig before leaning back into its contours. This newest addition to my collection of gadgets seems perfectly formed to fit the human body, cupping each bend of my back, my suspended legs, and neck perfectly once I’ve adjusted fully into a reclined sitting position. How much would this thing be going for on the general market once it’s ready? The material and ergonomic design of the chair alone seems like it would be pricey, and that doesn’t even begin to hint at the complicated hardware and software elements within. Once again I count myself lucky to have gotten into this first wave of testing, to have been granted the opportunity to explore this new digital frontier with a handful of other passionate programmers and designers who’d applied with the hope of being included. Now if only I could get it to work the way I’d expected. Maybe the updates I’d applied after my last session will do the job though, and the excitement mounts as I reach up and grab the headset from where it dangles over a bar above me. It’s a fairly standard visor and headphone combo with high-resolution ocular screens, but with a quality-of-life upgrade in the form of venting slots. Outward facing fans are hidden underneath those gill-like slits and force just enough air-flow through the mask to keep the face cool without drying out the eyes; a great addition for anyone planning on staying under for long periods of time.

I pull the headband of the visor over my hair but poise my fingers near the chair’s control panel before fully pulling the screens over my eyes. That control pad is placed beside where my right hand will rest, similar to the controls of a massage chair, and houses just a few buttons to boot up the main functions. Once the visor is pulled snugly over my eyes and its headphones around my ears, I firmly press a finger against where I know the large, green ‘initiate’ button to be.

The total darkness that veils my vision is pierced by a pinpoint of light that quickly expands, like the sunlit end of a tunnel quickly approaching. In that same instant, a whirring sound faintly reaches my ears through the muffs of the headset, and I imagine the pronged metal points that I know are rising from either side of the chair’s headrest, precisely measured to come within millimeters of my neck before stopping and emitting a pulse.

My body jolts in response to whatever signal it receives. The same thing had happened each time before, but while my previous experiences had felt like just a light bump, this feels more dramatic. As though I’d been charged with a defibrillator. I force a series of slow, deep breaths just like I’d been instructed in the applicant training course. This… amplified reaction is probably a good sign, a clear indicator that my input adjustments are having an effect.

The thought hardly calms the bit of natural panic that surges through me as my body goes utterly numb, as though the tilted chair has disappeared from underneath me completely. A feeling of eerie weightlessness follows and remains just long enough to become nearly unbearable, then all my feeling very suddenly returns. It’s like a car engine stalling out then revving back to life, and I can’t decide whether the feeling is terrifying or exhilarating. But then, the line between the two is strikingly thin, I’ve realized.

The dull light that’s expanded over my vision finds sudden focus, and I blink against the image that greets me as gentle sounds swell through the headset. My attention first turns to my hands as I flex them, trying them out like a new tool. They are new in a way, as I’d already marked in my previous ventures that they don’t share the unique qualities of my real hands, the scar across the knuckle of my left thumb, or the freckle near my right wrist. Otherwise my brain tells me they’re mine, an illusion made more convincing by the cool caress of wind that blows from behind and tugs at my hair and at my thin, tattered clothes. The subtle whistle of it reaches my ears and carries with it the sounds of clucking chickens and idle activity from further away.

I let my eyes wander, enamored with the scene that’s formed around me. The blue sky with serene, perfect clouds swatched throughout and the sun perched against the edge of a mountain in the distance. A dirt path beneath my feet, winding further through a series of short, wood and thatch buildings on either side. They’re all easily recognizable by the clear signage hanging above each door, and even more familiar due to the countless hours I’ve poured into creating them. The tavern, nearly empty of patrons at this daytime hour. The Farm and Stable here at the edge of town, a reliable place for low-level quests or to grind player experience on the spawning livestock. A Blacksmith’s shop, which even now releases a consistent bellow of smoke from a chimney at its back end, while the methodic ping of a hammer sounds from somewhere within.

This is Bellenview, one of Mountains of Ash’s many hand-crafted cities, and it’s never felt so real.

I stand frozen at my spawn point for another few seconds, marveling at the feeling of the wind on my skin, the static heat emanating over me from the bearing sun, and even the dusty feel of the earth under my bare feet when I shift a fraction. Every familiar, mundane sensation is now incredible, and when I finally move it’s to touch the wall of the Inn beside me, to feel the splintered surface of aged wood under my fingertips. It’s all so real in a way I’d never thought possible, the ultimate form of escapism finally realized, and it’s mostly to the credit of that ‘Neural Clamp’ I’ve been graciously allowed to test.

However that sophisticated chair works, with its metal prongs that manage to communicate directly with my body’s neural pathways, it’s currently creating a seamless experience that feels just like I would in my own skin. Albeit I may deserve some of the credit for the thorough sense of realism. I’ve been using this thing consistently for two weeks now and it never felt quite right, more like a hollow echo of the sensations and fine-tuned motor control you’d expect. I’ve been steadily ramping up the sensitivity with each session until finally coding in some of my own limits. If it’s not perfect now, then it’s definitely close. I’ll need to copy that code to the private forum the testing community uses; I’m sure the developers can use it as a framework to make it even better.

A loud, metallic clanging pierces the peace of the otherwise quiet town and my head jolts toward the source. It’s coming from the West, Bellenview’s town square, but what would… An alarm bell. There’s a bell at the center of every small village in the game, mostly as an aesthetic choice to fill out the space. As far as I know there’s no interaction that would cause the bell to ring, although Jordan is the one who handles most of the AI. Maybe he added some villager actions to try and up the realism?

My idle curiosity is swept away by the deafening roar that hits my eardrums like a hammer, followed by a tremor that shakes the ground beneath my feet.

Terror strikes through me like a spear of ice, followed by a slow trickle of pride at the visceral reaction. Fear had completely halted the logical part of my brain, and in doing so had made this place utterly real for a moment. The emotion fades as that analytical part fires off again and reminds me that the source of the sound is why I'm here to begin with.

The klaxon continues at the center of town, but its metallic ring is dulled in the wake of the terrible sound of what approaches. I'd pressed myself fully against the wall, and now peel away and move toward the outside corner of the Inn. A glance through the alley between the Inn and stable is enough to spot a lumbering, red scaled beast that now heads purposefully toward the edge of town, its attention seemingly drawn toward the sound of the bell. The thing is huge, discernible even through the generous distance between us, with wings, claws, and a long serpentine tail and neck that ends at a maw filled with long, dagger-esque teeth. It's suited to the seldom-traveled volcanic landscapes we'd placed north of here, and looks almost comically out of place against the backdrop of the quiet, green valley it's traveled through.

Now I'll just need to access its code to see why it's here, and this should be close enough to get started.

My preferred method of programming is more… hands on than most. Through the design of my very own Integrated Development Environment, I've created a technique I call 'Architectural Coding,' or ‘Arching,’ where a program can be created and modified from within, like a sculptor molding clay, or a god warping reality. That last one is Jordan's go-to description of my process, but it comes across a little dramatic for my taste.

I've been told the concept is unwieldy and inefficient, and it's taken quite a lot of my own time to get it working properly. Still, my continued dedication to it boils down to one idea: Creating new worlds is my escape from the one I was born into, so why not dive in as deeply as possible?

I like to think my process gives its own unique flare as well; realistic wind patterns, the warmth of the sun or cold chill of rain, even the subtle collision of each blade of grass. Mountains of Ash was never meant to be a VR experience, and these are all things a player with a controller in their hands won't get to experience or likely even realize. Yet they've been included regardless, for me, and for the sake of the art of it all. I'm convinced that in experiencing a fuller world, I can paint a more beautiful picture even for those who can't see its more subtle details.

That probably sounds a tad more grandiose than the reality of the work, since most of the time it comes back to the basics of coding. Even now, I expect to be scouring through this dragon's behavioral code in search of a single missing semicolon or similarly mundane error.

I press a finger to the wrist of my other arm, the usual gesture-control to pause the game. There's another spark of surprise at the sensation of it, the soft press of my own fingertips and pulse of the vein underneath them feels just as if I'd touched my wrist in real life. A perfect recreation, since I know my real body can't move while the Neural Clamp works its mysterious magic to intercept and decode my brain's commands.

My sense of wonder is interrupted by the realization that nothing's happened. The wind still blows, caressing my cheek as the distant ringing goes on without delay. I tap at my wrist again, this time exaggerating the movement for the program's sake. Nothing.

That’s… weird. I’d only tweaked the sensory input with my last change to the system, but my gesture controls should all still be in place… I sweep a hand over my head, then straight down in front of me to draw up the diagnostic menu. A series of grayed out blocks appear there, translucent so I can still see the alleyway and field beyond them. Inventory spaces, accompanied by an image of an avatar surrounded by empty armor slots. A player menu…? The avatar isn’t even customized, just the brown haired, pale skinned woman that appears at the start of the character creator. My personal one has been made to closely resemble my real-world appearance: slight-framed with a thin, pointed nose, skin even more pale than the pink tone I see now, and a bobbed haircut that’s dyed a shade of etheric teal, of course that part always looks better here where there’s no chance of frayed ends and dark, unkempt roots. I’d also spruced up a few details, namely the piercing pinkish-purple irises to compliment the shade of my hair in a way that my dark brown eyes never will. None of those physical qualities are present now though, a fact that gives an immediate clue of what’s happened.

“Dev ID: Sydney Weaver, pause.” I speak the words loudly and clearly to make sure the program picks up on the verbal command. An immediate flash of red text at the top of my vision tells me it’s been received, but with an unexpected result.

Developer permissions restricted, v1.12

What?

“Dev ID: Sydney Weaver, enable Arching.”

Developer mode cannot be enabled, server connection scheduled: 52:47:03

The numbers continue to roll down, toward Monday morning and the start of the approaching beta launch, until the warning fades from view. Jordan must have already scheduled the server connection to go live with today’s patch, which means I won’t be able to modify anything until that connection is canceled. That particular detail must have slipped his mind in the rush to take off for the weekend. Now the only thing left to –

A warm, calloused hand clamps over my mouth from behind, hauling me backward until my back meets a firm surface. My bare heels kick and drag through the dirt as I’m suddenly dragged back around the corner of the nearest building, then forcibly spun to come nose to nose with a man who crouches there in front of me. That nose is bulbous, and he has the leathery, pock-marked skin of someone who’s weathered the elements for too many years. Fiery orange, heavily curled hair drapes over his shoulders and hangs like a curtain from around his mouth in a thick beard that conceals the top of a dirtied white apron. I know this man, if only from a distance. Ferrand, the tavern-keep and one of the most prolific quest-givers here in Bellenview. He shouldn’t be here either; he’s not coded to leave his spot behind the bar. He also shouldn’t have that terror-filled expression that widens his ghostly-gray eyes.

He pulls the hand away from my mouth and holds a finger over his own, then gives a subtle gesture to hurry toward the doors of the Inn behind him. Without waiting to see what I’ll do, he turns and begins in that direction. I’m tempted to follow, if only to track the bizarre behavior that I definitely had no part in programming, but instead I steal a glimpse back down the alley beside me.

A yelp bursts up my throat before I spin and scramble toward the front of the Inn, suddenly much more aware of the ground rumbling under my feet. Because the huge, winged lizard is no longer heading toward the town square, and instead barrels through the opening between the buildings. Right toward me.

I nearly trip on the way up the wooden stairs before bursting through the door and slamming it shut behind me. Several heads swivel toward me from their places around the room, none of them sitting or idly standing as they should be, but instead from defensive positions they’ve taken around the room. The shades are drawn, tables turned over and iron pokers or whatever other bits of metal brandished as makeshift weapons as Bellenview’s citizens shelter themselves from a crisis they were never designed to face.

“Why are–”

“Hush, girl,” Ferrand grabs my arm and tugs me away from the door until I’m crouched next to him under a nearby window. My knees hit the wooden floor hard enough to ache against the bite of the splintered surface. Wait, pain?

He shifts the curtain just enough to peek underneath as he continues in a hushed tone of his own. “Yer hollarin’s what brought the thing our way!”

My…? He must mean my verbal commands, shouted in the open while the creature was passing by. Apparently loudly enough to get its attention which, at the time, I hadn’t been worried about in the slightest.

The intermittent, rumbling steps grow even closer and the glass window-panes begin to shudder with them. Ferrand’s ruddy cheeks have paled when he pulls his face away from the curtain and looks toward me with a fearful glance.

Wait, why am I worried now? This is my world, regardless of some botched update. I raise my hand over my head and swipe it downward to bring up the player menu once more. The same inventory spots appear, mostly empty but with a few occupied by starting equipment, a simple sword, wooden shield, and armor that I haven’t bothered to don. The player avatar and the empty slots around its edges. A bar along the top that displays the cardinal directions and some simple symbols for points of interest, all rotating with the slightest turn of my head. I search the edges of the popup, but there’s nothing else there. None of the options, preferences, or exit buttons that should all be present. It must be because the game isn’t meant to be played like this, so the program has ended up cobbling together a menu of what my self-made interface can recognize… But theorizing won’t help me right now. If the pain still throbbing through my tender knees is any indication of what these new Neural Clamp settings can do, I do not want to face off against a dragon.

My hands are shaking, but I swipe away the player inventory then reach up and brush my fingers over my face, hoping by some miracle they'll find the edges of the visor in the real world. No such luck, because I'm not actually moving there.

A guttural, reptilian clicking comes from just outside the window and the sunlight that glows through the curtains is suddenly blotted out as a shadow moves across it. Terror grips my heart like a vice, and this time it’s not accompanied by that tinge of pride like before. I’m no longer in control here, and I'm running out of options.

"Dev ID: Sydney Weaver, end program." The command comes out whispered and harsh as I struggle to push back the wave of panic.

No response.

Sunlight streaks across the wooden floor again as the shadow moves from the window and overtakes the sliver of light under the door. A series of sniffing sounds flood through the Inn, along with a sulfurous scent that makes me gag.

I look around the room, eyes blurred from the stench and with tears I hadn't realized had started to well. There's no place to go, no back door or windows aside from those beside us, and that thing is going to come tearing in here at any second.

"Dev ID: Sydney Weaver, end program!"

Developer permissions restricted, v1.12

Shit.

Those huddled around the room look toward me, their expressions a mix of terror and startled confusion at the outburst.

Ferrand's gray eyes drift from the door to meet mine. Within them I see a look of unsettling acceptance. "What have you done, lass?"

The glass windows shatter against an earth-rending roar.