World of Duty

My guild is under attack, we PvP all the time, but this is our ultimate test. If we die here, we will not be able to log back in, it will be as if our characters died. The interface is close to the pinnacle of full immersion. Our bodies control our characters flawlessly, and the only way I can tell that it is a video game and not real life is the cartoony environment, otherwise it stimulates my senses flawlessly. The cartoonish environment creates a sharp juxtaposition with the fierce modern warfare battles that take place on it. It's cold and raining, night is unforgiving in our PvP campaign. We check to make sure our guns are fully loaded and that we are set up in the most defensible position. Most of us are set up under a large over hang. The rocky banks of a swift flowing river extend right up to the edge of the evergreen forest. Ages ago the river ate away the bottom of the gigantic bolder that now shelters us, or that's what would have happened if it was an actual river and not a virtual one.

Enemy commandos are advancing on our position. I can't see or hear them but I know they are close. The rain clears and the moonlight gives us a clear view of the tree line across the river. We watch as the enemy spring from the darkness and rush for the river. We turn on our laser sights and fire wildly. This is different from our usual calm and precise combat operations. Everyone is nervous now that everything is on the table. My heart is racing and I'm trying to pick off the people closest to our position. A lone guild mate has taken cover behind a small bolder outside of the cave at my 10 o'clock. I'm desperately trying to keep their forces off of him. He seems oblivious to his danger, three times snipers prevent his inevitable demise.

The rain starts again and the moon no longer guides our bullets, flashes of lightning are our only sources of information. We've repelled the fist wave of enemy forces successfully but the second wave is more highly trained. Tiny red dots in the distance mark the coming of the second wave, aiming towards their laser sights we fire frantically. I dash out of the overhang and scramble up to the top of the bolder. 10 o'clock is still there, but there are red dots all around his position. I fire blindly, then aided by lightning, but he's already dead. Maybe I killed him, maybe I helped as much as I could. I'm crushed that he's gone, but we've survived the second wave, we bunk down for the night.

In the morning we have to travel all the was across the map. We could use flight points, and some of us have horses, and a couple want to catch the zeppelins, but we decide to hike instead. We banter lightly as we hike away from river, down the rocky slopes to Thunderbluff. The ground here is split up into steep rectangular sections, as if a poorly made checkerboard was elevated a small amount with every new row, with slight variations within the row, so that the first row was ground level and the last row, our current position, was 300 feet higher. Snow still covered the ground so we slid and jumped from level to level, quickly reaching dangerous speeds with no way to stop. Flying down the slope with the cold air stinging my eyes, I struggled to keep my balance. Adrenaline pulsed through my body at every near miss and I thought my heart would burst, but then I was at the bottom catching my breath. I made a mental note to return here to do that again someday. Our unit split up here as we each made our own way to Orgrimmar. I sauntered over to the Flight Master and savored our victory for the first time. The sunrise, now early morning sun, warmed my face as my mount leveled off and turn toward home.

Gemini

Dual Dreams

Futurama cast members and I are working through World of Warcraft dungeons. I retain the female form of my priest, it is odd being a woman, but there is work to be done so I don't dwell on it. The caves are foreign to me, but Fry and Leila seem to know the way. There is no real danger, so healing is easy and unchallenging, yet I'm having a fantastic time. My complacency leads to catastrophic damage. Limbs are torn from most everyone in the party. I have to recombine flesh with those of the monsters freshly slain. Tentacles, hooves, and nameless machinations become living extensions of my refreshed raiding party. Their grizzly appendages do not bother or hinder my appreciative group. Leila has escaped harm and Fry, easily the worst off, is now beyond recognition. Our quest is some long lost crystal, it's powers unknown, but it's importance paramount. We enter the final chamber.


I'm in a recording studio, sitting on a beat up, worn out, unmistakably stained couch. A female recording exec is sitting on the other end of the three cushion mess. She cozies into the soft cushions with no regard to her pinstripe suit. It is 1972, and I'm hear to record the beginning of various famous musician's careers. Jimi Hendrix is here. Bob Dylan, and Ella Fitzgerald are fighting over who will do the vocals. Barney the purple dinosaur is here as well, though I can see the man's face through the costumes mouth. I was surprised to see that Barney was played by an African American. I was more surprised that Barney's career started in 1972. Then Barney laid down the most impressive guitar track I'd ever heard, and realized that Barney and Jimi Hendrix were actually the same person. This made complete sense and I explained it to the exec. She was unimpressed as everyone already knew that. I lounged on the couch for several hours while the sounds of the seventies washed over my sleepy body. Eventually I fell asleep.