MoreAdvancePraiseforReadyPlayerOne

“[An] adrenaline shot of uncut geekdom … sweet, self-deprecating Wade,whose universe is an oddmix of the real past and the virtual present, is theperfectlovable/unlikelyhero.”

—PublishersWeekly

“Thepure, unfetteredbrainscreamof a child of the ’80s, like a dreammythirteen-year-oldselfwouldhavehadafterbingeingonPopRocksandCoke.…Icouldn’tputitdown.”

—CharlesArdai,EdgarAward–winningauthorandproducerofHaven

“Puregeekheaven.ErnestCline’sherocompetes inavirtualworldwith life-and-death stakes—which is only fitting, because he’s fighting to make hisdreams into reality. Cline blends a dystopic future with meticulously detailednostalgiatocreateastorythatwillresonateintheheartofeverytruenerd.”

—ChristopherFarnsworth,authorofBloodOath

“A fantastic adventure set in a futuristicworldwitha retroheart.Once Istartedreading,Ididn’twanttoputitdownandIcouldn’twaittopickitbackup.”

—S.G.Browne,authorofBreathers

“Cline has somehowmanaged to jack into the nervous system of some greatwarmcollectivegeek-dreamnostalgiaofthe’70sand’80sandusedtheprecioustouchstoneshe’srediscoveredtheretocreateanadventurethat’salmostmoreexperienced than read.…ReadyPlayerOne letme romp through some of

thebestmemoriesofmyyouth.”—PaulMalmont,authorofTheChinatownDeathCloudPeril

“ImaginethatDungeonsandDragonsandan’80svideoarcademadehot,sweet love, and their child was raised in Azeroth. If you’re not alreadyexperiencinganerdgasmatthethought,Idon’twanttoknowyou.”

—JohnScalzi,NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofOldMan’sWar

“Ready Player One expertly mines a copious vein of 1980s pop culture,catapultingthereaderonalight-speedadventureinanadvancedbutbackward-lookingfuture.Ifthisbookwerealivingroom,itwouldbewood-paneled.Ifitwere shoes, itwould be high-tops.And if itwere a song,well, itwouldhavetobe‘EyeoftheTiger.’Ireally,reallylovedit.”

—DanielH.Wilson,authorofRobopocalypse

“Iwasblownawaybythisbook.…ErnieClinehaspulledtheraddestofallmagic tricks: He’s managed to write a novel that’s at once serious andplayful,thatisasfuntoreadasitisharrowing.Abookofideas,apotboiler,agame-within-a-novel,a seriousscience-fictionepic,acomicpop-culturemash-up—call thisnovelwhatyouwill,butReadyPlayerOnewilldefyevery labelyoutrytoputonit.Here,finally,isthisgeneration’sNeuromancer.”

—WillLavender,NewYorkTimesbestsellingauthorofObedience

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.

Copyright©2011byDarkAllDay,Inc.

Allrightsreserved.PublishedintheUnitedStatesbyCrownPublishers,animprintoftheCrownPublishingGroup,adivisionofRandomHouse,Inc.,NewYork.www.crownpublishing.com

CROWNandtheCrowncolophonareregisteredtrademarksofRandomHouse,Inc.

LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationDataCline,Ernest.Readyplayerone:anovel/ErnestCline.—1sted.p.cm.1.Regression(Civilization)—Fiction.2.Virtualreality—Fiction.3.Utopias—Fiction.4.Puzzles—Fiction.I.Title.PS3603.L548R432011813′.6—dc222011015247

eISBN:978-0-307-88745-0

JacketdesignbyChristopherBrand

v3.1

ForSusanandLibbyBecausethereisnomapforwherewearegoing

Contents

CoverTitlePageCopyrightDedicationPrologue

LevelOneChapter1Chapter2Chapter3Chapter4Chapter5Chapter6Chapter7Chapter8Chapter9Chapter10Chapter11Chapter12Chapter13Chapter14Chapter15Chapter16

LevelTwoChapter17Chapter18Chapter19Chapter20

Chapter21Chapter22Chapter23Chapter24Chapter25Chapter26Chapter27

LevelThreeChapter28Chapter29Chapter30Chapter31Chapter32Chapter33Chapter34Chapter35Chapter36Chapter37Chapter38Chapter39

AcknowledgmentsAbouttheAuthor

Everyonemy age remembers where they were and what they were doingwhen they first heard about the contest. Iwas sitting inmy hideoutwatchingcartoonswhen the news bulletin broke in onmy video feed, announcing thatJamesHallidayhaddiedduringthenight.I’d heard of Halliday, of course. Everyone had. He was the videogame

designer responsible for creating the OASIS, a massively multiplayer onlinegamethathadgraduallyevolvedintothegloballynetworkedvirtualrealitymostofhumanitynowusedonadailybasis.TheunprecedentedsuccessoftheOASIShadmadeHallidayoneofthewealthiestpeopleintheworld.Atfirst,Icouldn’tunderstandwhythemediawasmakingsuchabigdealof

thebillionaire’sdeath.Afterall, thepeopleofPlanetEarthhadotherconcerns.The ongoing energy crisis. Catastrophic climate change. Widespread famine,poverty, and disease. Half a dozen wars. You know: “dogs and cats livingtogether…masshysteria!”Normally,thenewsfeedsdidn’tinterrupteveryone’sinteractivesitcomsandsoapoperasunlesssomethingreallymajorhadhappened.Liketheoutbreakofsomenewkillervirus,oranothermajorcityvanishinginamushroom cloud. Big stuff like that. As famous as he was, Halliday’s deathshould have warranted only a brief segment on the evening news, so theunwashed masses could shake their heads in envy when the newscastersannouncedtheobscenelylargeamountofmoneythatwouldbedoledouttotherichman’sheirs.Butthatwastherub.JamesHallidayhadnoheirs.Hehaddiedasixty-seven-year-oldbachelor,withnolivingrelativesand,by

mostaccounts,withoutasinglefriend.He’dspentthelastfifteenyearsofhislifeinself-imposedisolation,duringwhichtime—iftherumorsweretobebelieved—he’dgonecompletelyinsane.So the real jaw-dropping news that January morning, the news that had

everyone from Toronto to Tokyo crapping in their cornflakes, concerned thecontentsofHalliday’slastwillandtestament,andthefateofhisvastfortune.

Hallidayhadpreparedashortvideomessage,alongwithinstructionsthatitbereleasedtotheworldmediaatthetimeofhisdeath.He’dalsoarrangedtohaveacopyofthevideoe-mailedtoeverysingleOASISuserthatsamemorning.Istillrememberhearingthefamiliarelectronicchimewhenitarrivedinmyinbox,justafewsecondsafterIsawthatfirstnewsbulletin.His videomessagewas actually ameticulously constructed short film titled

Anorak’s Invitation. A famous eccentric, Halliday had harbored a lifelongobsessionwith the 1980s, the decade duringwhich he’d been a teenager, andAnorak’s Invitation was crammed with obscure ’80s pop culture references,nearlyallofwhichwerelostonmethefirsttimeIviewedit.The entire videowas just over fiveminutes in length, and in the days and

weeks that followed, it would become the most scrutinized piece of film inhistory,surpassingeventheZapruderfilmintheamountofpainstakingframe-by-frameanalysisdevotedtoit.MyentiregenerationwouldcometoknoweverysecondofHalliday’smessagebyheart.

Anorak’s Invitation begins with the sound of trumpets, the opening of an oldsongcalled“DeadMan’sParty.”Thesongplaysoveradarkscreenforthefirstfewseconds,untilthetrumpets

are joinedby aguitar, and that’swhenHalliday appears.Buthe’snot a sixty-seven-year-oldman,ravagedbytimeandillness.Helooksjustashedidonthecover of Time magazine back in 2014, a tall, thin, healthy man in his earlyforties,withunkempthairandhistrademarkhorn-rimmedeyeglasses.He’salsowearing thesameclothinghewore in theTimecoverphoto: faded jeansandavintageSpaceInvadersT-shirt.Halliday is at a high-school dance being held in a large gymnasium. He’s

surroundedbyteenagerswhoseclothing,hairstyles,anddancemovesallindicatethat the timeperiodis the late1980s.*Hallidayisdancing, too—somethingnooneeversawhimdoinreallife.Grinningmaniacally,hespinsinrapidcircles,swinginghis arms andhead in timewith the song, flawlessly cycling throughseveralsignature’80sdancemoves.ButHallidayhasnodancepartner.Heis,asthesayinggoes,dancingwithhimself.Afewlinesoftextappearbrieflyatthelowerleft-handcornerofthescreen,

listing thenameof theband, the song’s title, the record label, and theyear ofrelease,asifthiswereanoldmusicvideoairingonMTV:OingoBoingo,“DeadMan’sParty,”MCARecords,1985.Whenthelyricskickin,Hallidaybeginstolip-synchalong,stillgyrating:“All

dressed upwith nowhere to go.Walkingwith a deadman overmy shoulder.Don’trunaway,it’sonlyme.…”He abruptly stops dancing andmakes a cuttingmotionwith his right hand,

silencing the music. At the same moment, the dancers and the gymnasiumbehindhimvanish,andthescenearoundhimsuddenlychanges.Hallidaynowstandsatthefrontofafuneralparlor,nexttoanopencasket.†A

second, much older Halliday lies inside the casket, his body emaciated andravagedbycancer.Shinyquarterscovereachofhiseyelids.‡TheyoungerHallidaygazesdownat thecorpseofhisolder selfwithmock

sadness, then turns to address the assembled mourners.§ Halliday snaps hisfingersandascrollappearsinhisrighthand.Heopensitwithaflourishanditunfurls to the floor, unraveling down the aisle in front of him.He breaks thefourthwall,addressingtheviewer,andbeginstoread.“I,JamesDonovanHalliday,beingofsoundmindanddisposingmemory,do

hereby make, publish, and declare this instrument to be my last will andtestament, hereby revoking any and all wills and codicils by me at any timeheretofore made.…” He continues reading, faster and faster, plowing throughseveralmoreparagraphsoflegalese,untilhe’sspeakingsorapidlythatthewordsare unintelligible. Then he stops abruptly. “Forget it,” he says. “Even at thatspeed,itwouldtakemeamonthtoreadthewholething.Sadtosay,Idon’thavethatkindoftime.”Hedropsthescrollanditvanishesinashowerofgolddust.“Letmejustgiveyouthehighlights.”Thefuneralparlorvanishes,andthescenechangesonceagain.Hallidaynow

stands in front of an immense bank vault door. “My entire estate, including acontrollingshareofstockinmycompany,GregariousSimulationSystems,istobeplacedinescrowuntilsuchtimeasasingleconditionIhavesetforthinmywill is met. The first individual to meet that condition will inherit my entirefortune,currentlyvaluedinexcessoftwohundredandfortybilliondollars.”The vault door swings open andHalliday walks inside. The interior of the

vaultisenormous,anditcontainsahugestackofgoldbars,roughlythesizeofalargehouse.“Here’sthedoughI’mputtingupforgrabs,”Hallidaysays,grinningbroadly.“Whatthehell.Youcan’ttakeitwithyou,right?”Hallidayleansagainstthestackofgoldbars,andthecamerapullsintighton

hisface.“Now,I’msureyou’rewondering,whatdoyouhavetodotogetyourhandsonall thismoolah?Well,holdyourhorses,kids. I’mgetting to that.…”Hepausesdramatically,hisexpressionchangingtothatofachildabouttorevealaverybigsecret.Hallidaysnapshisfingersagainandthevaultdisappears.Inthesameinstant,

Halliday shrinksandmorphs intoa smallboywearingbrowncorduroysandafadedTheMuppetShowT-shirt.*TheyoungHallidaystandsinaclutteredlivingroom with burnt orange carpeting, wood-paneled walls, and kitschy late-’70sdecor.A21-inchZenithtelevisionsitsnearby,withanAtari2600gameconsolehookeduptoit.“ThiswasthefirstvideogamesystemIeverowned,”Hallidaysays,nowina

child’svoice.“AnAtari2600.IgotitforChristmasin1979.”HeplopsdowninfrontoftheAtari,picksupajoystick,andbeginstoplay.“Myfavoritegamewasthisone,”hesays,noddingat theTVscreen,whereasmallsquareis travelingthrough a series of simplemazes. “It was calledAdventure. Likemany earlyvideogames,Adventurewasdesignedandprogrammedbyjustoneperson.Butback then,Atari refused to give its programmers credit for theirwork, so thenameofagame’screatordidn’tactuallyappearanywhereonthepackaging.”OntheTVscreen,weseeHallidayuseaswordtoslayareddragon,althoughduetothegame’scrudelow-resolutiongraphics,thislooksmorelikeasquareusinganarrowtostabadeformedduck.“SotheguywhocreatedAdventure,amannamedWarrenRobinett,decided

to hide his name inside the game itself. He hid a key in one of the game’slabyrinths.Ifyoufoundthiskey,asmallpixel-sizedgraydot,youcoulduseittoenterasecretroomwhereRobinetthadhiddenhisname.”OntheTV,Hallidayguides his square protagonist into the game’s secret room, where the wordsCREATEDBYWARRENROBINETTappearinthecenterofthescreen.“This,”Hallidaysays,pointingtothescreenwithgenuinereverence,“wasthe

very first videogame Easter egg. Robinett hid it in his game’s code withouttellingasoul,andAtarimanufacturedandshippedAdventureallovertheworldwithout knowing about the secret room.Theydidn’t find out about theEasteregg’sexistenceuntilafewmonthslater,whenkidsallovertheworldbegantodiscover it. Iwas one of those kids, and findingRobinett’sEaster egg for thefirsttimewasoneofthecoolestvideogamingexperiencesofmylife.”TheyoungHallidaydropshisjoystickandstands.Ashedoes,thelivingroom

fades away, and the scene shifts again. Halliday now stands in a dim cavern,wherelightfromunseentorchesflickersoffthedampwalls.Inthesameinstant,Halliday’s appearance also changes once again, as hemorphs into his famousOASIS avatar, Anorak—a tall, robed wizard with a slightly more handsomeversionoftheadultHalliday’sface(minustheeyeglasses).Anorakisdressedinhis trademarkblackrobes,withhisavatar’semblem(a largecalligraphic letter“A”)embroideredoneachsleeve.“BeforeIdied,”Anoraksays,speakinginamuchdeepervoice,“Icreatedmy

ownEasteregg,andhiditsomewhereinsidemymostpopularvideogame—the

OASIS.ThefirstpersontofindmyEastereggwillinheritmyentirefortune.”Anotherdramaticpause.“Theeggiswellhidden.Ididn’tjustleaveitlyingunderarocksomewhere.I

supposeyoucouldsaythatit’slockedinsideasafethatisburiedinasecretroomthat lieshiddenat thecenterofamaze locatedsomewhere”—hereachesup totaphisrighttemple—“uphere.“Butdon’tworry. I’ve lefta fewclues lyingaround togeteveryonestarted.

Andhere’sthefirstone.”Anorakmakesagrandgesturewithhisrighthand,andthreekeysappear,spinningslowlyintheairinfrontofhim.Theyappeartobemade of copper, jade, and clear crystal.As the keys continue to spin,Anorakrecitesapieceofverse,andashespeakseachline,itappearsbrieflyinflamingsubtitlesacrossthebottomofscreen:

ThreehiddenkeysopenthreesecretgatesWhereintheerrantwillbetestedforworthytraitsAndthosewiththeskilltosurvivethesestraitsWillreachTheEndwheretheprizeawaits

Ashefinishes,thejadeandcrystalkeysvanish,leavingonlythecopperkey,

whichnowhangsonachainaroundAnorak’sneck.The camera followsAnorak as he turns and continues farther into the dark

cavern.Afewsecondslater,hearrivesatapairofmassivewoodendoorssetintothecavern’srockywall.Thesedoorsarebandedwithsteel,andthereareshieldsanddragonscarvedintotheirsurfaces.“Icouldn’tplaytestthisparticulargame,soIworry thatImayhavehiddenmyEasteregga little toowell.Madeit toodifficulttoreach.I’mnotsure.Ifthat’sthecase,it’stoolatetochangeanythingnow.SoIguesswe’llsee.”Anorak throws open the double doors, revealing an immense treasure room

filledwithpilesofglitteringgoldcoins and jewel-encrustedgoblets.*Thenhestepsintotheopendoorwayandturnstofacetheviewer,stretchingouthisarmstoholdopenthegiantdoubledoors.†“So without further ado,” Anorak announces, “let the hunt for Halliday’s

Easter egg begin!”Then he vanishes in a flash of light, leaving the viewer togaze through the open doorway at the glittering mounds of treasure that laybeyond.Thenthescreenfadestoblack.

Attheendofthevideo,Hallidayincludedalinktohispersonalwebsite,which

hadchangeddrasticallyonthemorningofhisdeath.Foroveradecade,theonlything posted there had been a short looping animation that showed his avatar,Anorak,sittinginamedievallibrary,hunchedoverascarredworktable,mixingpotionsandporingoverdustyspellbooks,withalargepaintingofablackdragonvisibleonthewallbehindhim.Butnowthatanimationwasgone,andinitsplacetherewasahigh-scorelist

likethosethatusedtoappearinoldcoin-operatedvideogames.Thelisthadtennumberedspots,andeachdisplayedtheinitialsJDH—JamesDonovanHalliday—followed by a score of six zeros. This high-score list quickly came to beknownas“theScoreboard.”JustbelowtheScoreboardwasaniconthatlookedlikeasmallleather-bound

book, which linked to a free downloadable copy of Anorak’s Almanac, acollectionofhundredsofHalliday’sundated journalentries.TheAlmanacwasover a thousand pages long, but it contained few details about Halliday’spersonallifeorhisday-to-dayactivities.Mostoftheentrieswerehisstream-of-consciousness observations on various classic videogames, science-fiction andfantasy novels, movies, comic books, and ’80s pop culture, mixed withhumorousdiatribesdenouncingeverythingfromorganizedreligiontodietsoda.TheHunt,asthecontestcametobeknown,quicklywoveitswayintoglobal

culture.Likewinningthelottery,findingHalliday’sEastereggbecameapopularfantasyamongadultsandchildrenalike.Itwasagameanyonecouldplay,andatfirst, there seemed to be no right or wrong way to play it. The only thingAnorak’s Almanac seemed to indicate was that a familiarity with Halliday’svarious obsessionswould be essential to finding the egg. This led to a globalfascinationwith1980spopculture.Fiftyyearsafter thedecadehadended, themovies,music,games,andfashionsof the1980swereall therageonceagain.By2041,spikedhairandacid-washedjeanswerebackinstyle,andcoversofhit’80spopsongsbycontemporarybandsdominatedthemusiccharts.Peoplewhohadactuallybeenteenagersinthe1980s,allnowapproachingoldage,hadthestrangeexperienceofseeingthefadsandfashionsoftheiryouthembracedandstudiedbytheirgrandchildren.A new subculture was born, composed of themillions of people who now

devotedeveryfreemomentoftheirlivestosearchingforHalliday’segg.Atfirst,these individuals were known simply as “egg hunters,” but this was quicklytruncatedtothenickname“gunters.”DuringthefirstyearoftheHunt,beingagunterwashighlyfashionable,and

nearlyeveryOASISuserclaimedtobeone.WhenthefirstanniversaryofHalliday’sdeatharrived,thefervorsurrounding

thecontestbegantodiedown.Anentireyearhadpassedandnoonehadfound

anything.Notasinglekeyorgate.PartoftheproblemwasthesheersizeoftheOASIS. It contained thousands of simulated worlds where the keys might behidden,anditcouldtakeagunteryearstoconductathoroughsearchofanyoneofthem.Despiteallofthe“professional”gunterswhoboastedontheirblogsthatthey

were getting closer to a breakthrough every day, the truth gradually becameapparent:Noonereallyevenknewexactlywhatitwastheywerelookingfor,orwheretostartlookingforit.Anotheryearpassed.Andanother.Stillnothing.Thegeneralpublic lostall interest in thecontest.Peoplebegan toassume it

wasalljustanoutlandishhoaxperpetratedbyarichnutjob.Othersbelievedthateveniftheeggreallydidexist,noonewasevergoingtofindit.Meanwhile,theOASIS continued to evolve and grow in popularity, protected from takeoverattempts and legal challenges by the ironclad terms ofHalliday’swill and thearmyofrabidlawyershehadtaskedwithadministeringhisestate.Halliday’sEasteregggraduallymovedintotherealmofurbanlegend,andthe

ever-dwindling tribe of gunters gradually became the object of ridicule. Eachyear, on the anniversary ofHalliday’s death, newscasters jokingly reported ontheir continued lack of progress. And each year, more gunters called it quits,concludingthatHallidayhadindeedmadetheeggimpossibletofind.Andanotheryearwentby.Andanother.Then,ontheeveningofFebruary11,2045,anavatar’snameappearedatthe

top of the Scoreboard, for the whole world to see. After five long years, theCopper Key had finally been found, by an eighteen-year-old kid living in atrailerparkontheoutskirtsofOklahomaCity.Thatkidwasme.Dozensofbooks,cartoons,movies,andminiserieshaveattemptedtotellthe

story of everything that happened next, but every single one of them got itwrong.SoIwanttosettherecordstraight,onceandforall.

* Careful analysis of this scene reveals that all of the teenagers behindHallidayareactuallyextrasfromvariousJohnHughesteenfilmswhohavebeendigitallycut-and-pastedintothevideo.

† His surroundings are actually from a scene in the 1989 filmHeathers.Halliday appears to have digitally re-created the funeral parlor set and then

insertedhimselfintoit.‡High-resolutionscrutinyrevealsthatbothquartersweremintedin1984.§Themournersareactuallyallactorsandextrasfromthesamefuneralscene

in Heathers. Winona Ryder and Christian Slater are clearly visible in theaudience,sittingneartheback.

*Hallidaynowlooksexactlyashedidinaschoolphototakenin1980,whenhewaseightyearsold.

* Analysis reveals dozens of curious items hidden among the mounds oftreasure, most notably: several early home computers (an Apple IIe, aCommodore64,anAtari800XL,andaTRS-80ColorComputer2),dozensofvideogamecontrollersforavarietyofgamesystems,andhundredsofpolyhedraldicelikethoseusedinoldtabletoprole-playinggames.

†Afreeze-frameofthissceneappearsnearlyidenticaltoapaintingbyJeffEasleythatappearedonthecoveroftheDungeonMaster’sGuide,aDungeons&Dragonsrulebookpublishedin1983.

Beinghumantotallysucksmostofthetime.Videogamesaretheonlythingthat

makelifebearable.—Anorak’sAlmanac,Chapter91,Verses1–2

Iwasjoltedawakebythesoundofgunfireinoneoftheneighboringstacks.Theshotswerefollowedbyafewminutesofmuffledshoutingandscreaming,thensilence.Gunfirewasn’t uncommon in the stacks, but it still shookme up. I knew I

probablywouldn’tbeabletofallbackasleep,soIdecidedtokilltheremaininghoursuntil dawnbybrushingupon a fewcoin-opclassics.Galaga,Defender,Asteroids. These games were outdated digital dinosaurs that had becomemuseumpieceslongbeforeIwasborn.ButIwasagunter,soIdidn’tthinkofthemasquaintlow-resantiques.Tome,theywerehallowedartifacts.Pillarsofthe pantheon.When I played the classics, I did so with a determined sort ofreverence.Iwascurledupinanoldsleepingbaginthecornerofthetrailer’stinylaundry

room,wedgedintothegapbetweenthewallandthedryer.Iwasn’twelcomeinmyaunt’sroomacrossthehall,whichwasfinebyme.Ipreferredtocrashinthelaundryroomanyway.Itwaswarm,itaffordedmealimitedamountofprivacy,and thewireless receptionwasn’t too bad.And, as an added bonus, the roomsmelledlikeliquiddetergentandfabricsoftener.Therestofthetrailerreekedofcatpissandabjectpoverty.Most of the time I slept in my hideout. But the temperature had dropped

below zero the past few nights, and asmuch as I hated staying at my aunt’splace,itstillbeatfreezingtodeath.Atotaloffifteenpeoplelivedinmyaunt’strailer.Shesleptinthesmallestof

itsthreebedrooms.TheDeppertslivedinthebedroomadjacenttohers,andtheMillersoccupiedthelargemasterbedroomattheendofthehall.Thereweresixofthem,andtheypaidthelargestshareoftherent.Ourtrailerwasn’tascrowdedassomeoftheotherunitsinthestacks.Itwasadouble-wide.Plentyofroomforeverybody.Ipulledoutmylaptopandpowerediton.Itwasabulky,heavybeast,almost

tenyearsold.I’dfounditinatrashbinbehindtheabandonedstripmallacross

thehighway.I’dbeenabletocoaxitbacktolifebyreplacingitssystemmemoryandreloadingthestone-ageoperatingsystem.Theprocessorwasslowerthanaslothbycurrentstandards,butitwasfineformyneeds.Thelaptopservedasmyportableresearchlibrary,videoarcade,andhometheatersystem.Itsharddrivewas filled with old books, movies, TV show episodes, song files, and nearlyeveryvideogamemadeinthetwentiethcentury.I booted upmy emulator and selected Robotron: 2084, one ofmy all-time

favoritegames.I’dalwaysloveditsfreneticpaceandbrutalsimplicity.Robotronwasallaboutinstinctandreflexes.Playingoldvideogamesneverfailedtoclearmymindandsetmeatease.IfIwasfeelingdepressedorfrustratedaboutmylotin life, all I had to dowas tap the PlayerOne button, andmyworrieswouldinstantly slip away as my mind focused itself on the relentless pixelatedonslaughtonthescreeninfrontofme.There,insidethegame’stwo-dimensionaluniverse,lifewassimple:It’sjustyouagainstthemachine.Movewithyourlefthand,shootwithyourright,andtrytostayaliveaslongaspossible.I spent a fewhours blasting throughwave afterwave ofBrains, Spheroids,

Quarks,andHulksinmyunendingbattletoSavetheLastHumanFamily!ButeventuallymyfingersstartedtocrampupandIbegantolosemyrhythm.Whenthathappenedat this level, thingsdeterioratedquickly. Iburned throughallofmyextralivesinamatterofminutes,andmytwoleast-favoritewordsappearedonthescreen:GAMEOVER.Ishutdowntheemulatorandbegantobrowsethroughmyvideofiles.Over

thepast fiveyears, I’ddownloadedeverysinglemovie,TVshow,andcartoonmentionedinAnorak’sAlmanac.Istillhadn’twatchedallofthemyet,ofcourse.Thatwouldprobablytakedecades.I selected an episode of Family Ties, an ’80s sitcom about a middleclass

familylivingincentralOhio.I’ddownloadedtheshowbecauseithadbeenoneofHalliday’sfavorites,andIfiguredtherewasachancethatsomecluerelatedtotheHuntmight be hidden in one of the episodes. I’d become addicted to theshow immediately, and had now watched all 180 episodes, multiple times. Ineverseemedtogettiredofthem.Sitting alone in the dark,watching the show onmy laptop, I always found

myselfimaginingthatIlivedinthatwarm,well-lithouse,andthatthosesmiling,understandingpeopleweremy family.That therewasnothing sowrong in theworld thatwecouldn’t sort it outby the endof a singlehalf-hour episode (ormaybeatwo-parter,ifitwassomethingreallyserious).My own home life had never even remotely resembled the one depicted in

FamilyTies,whichwasprobablywhyIlovedtheshowsomuch.Iwastheonlychildoftwoteenagers,bothrefugeeswho’dmetinthestackswhereI’dgrown

up.Idon’tremembermyfather.WhenIwasjustafewmonthsold,hewasshotdeadwhile looting a grocery store during a power blackout. The only thing Ireally knew about himwas that he loved comic books. I’d found several oldflash drives in a box of his things, containing complete runs ofThe AmazingSpider-Man,TheX-Men,andGreenLantern.Mymomoncetoldmethatmydadhadgivenmeanalliterativename,WadeWatts,becausehe thought itsoundedlikethesecretidentityofasuperhero.LikePeterParkerorClarkKent.Knowingthatmademethinkhemusthavebeenacoolguy,despitehowhe’ddied.Mymother,Loretta,hadraisedmeonherown.We’dlivedinasmallRVin

another part of the stacks. She had two full-time OASIS jobs, one as atelemarketer, theotherasanescort inanonlinebrothel.Sheused tomakemewearearplugsatnightsoIwouldn’thearherinthenextroom,talkingdirtytotricks inother timezones.But the earplugsdidn’tworkverywell, so Iwouldwatcholdmoviesinstead,withthevolumeturnedwayup.IwasintroducedtotheOASISatanearlyage,becausemymotheruseditasa

virtual babysitter.As soon as Iwas old enough towear a visor and a pair ofhapticgloves,mymomhelpedmecreatemyfirstOASISavatar.Thenshestuckme ina corner andwentback towork, leavingme to exploreanentirelynewworld,verydifferentfromtheoneI’dknownupuntilthen.From thatmomenton, Iwasmoreor less raisedby theOASIS’s interactive

educationalprograms,whichanykidcouldaccessforfree.Ispentabigchunkofmy childhood hanging out in a virtual-reality simulation of Sesame Street,singingsongswith friendlyMuppetsandplaying interactivegames that taughtmehow towalk, talk, add, subtract, read,write, and share.Once I’dmasteredthose skills, it didn’t take me long to discover that the OASIS was also theworld’sbiggestpubliclibrary,whereevenapennilesskidlikemehadaccesstoeverybookeverwritten,everysongeverrecorded,andeverymovie,televisionshow,videogame,andpieceofartworkevercreated.Thecollectedknowledge,art, and amusementsof all humancivilizationwere there,waiting forme.Butgainingaccesstoallofthatinformationturnedouttobesomethingofamixedblessing.BecausethatwaswhenIfoundoutthetruth.

Idon’tknow,maybeyourexperiencedifferedfrommine.Forme,growingupasahumanbeingontheplanetEarthinthetwenty-firstcenturywasarealkickintheteeth.Existentiallyspeaking.Theworstthingaboutbeingakidwasthatnoonetoldmethetruthaboutmy

situation. In fact, theydid theexactopposite.And,ofcourse, Ibelieved them,becauseIwasjustakidandIdidn’tknowanybetter.Imean,Christ,mybrain

hadn’tevengrowntofullsizeyet,sohowcouldIbeexpectedtoknowwhentheadultswerebullshittingme?SoIswallowedallofthedarkagesnonsensetheyfedme.Sometimepassed.I

grewupa little,andIgraduallybegan to figureout thatprettymucheveryonehadbeenlyingtomeaboutprettymucheverythingsincethemomentIemergedfrommymother’swomb.Thiswasanalarmingrevelation.Itgavemetrustissueslaterinlife.I started to figure out the ugly truth as soon as I began to explore the free

OASISlibraries.Thefactswererighttherewaitingforme,hiddeninoldbookswritten by people who weren’t afraid to be honest. Artists and scientists andphilosophersandpoets,manyofthemlongdead.AsIreadthewordsthey’dleftbehind,Ifinallybegantogetagriponthesituation.Mysituation.Oursituation.Whatmostpeoplereferredtoas“thehumancondition.”Itwasnotgoodnews.Iwishsomeonehadjusttoldmethetruthrightupfront,assoonasIwasold

enoughtounderstandit.Iwishsomeonehadjustsaid:“Here’s the deal,Wade.You’re something called a ‘human being.’ That’s a

really smart kind of animal. Like every other animal on this planet, we’redescended fromasingle-celledorganism that livedmillionsofyearsago.Thishappenedbyaprocesscalledevolution,andyou’lllearnmoreaboutitlater.Buttrustme,that’sreallyhowweallgothere.There’sproofofiteverywhere,buriedintherocks.Thatstoryyouheard?Abouthowwewereallcreatedbyasuper-powerfuldudenamedGodwho livesup in the sky?Totalbullshit.ThewholeGod thing is actually an ancient fairy tale that people have been telling oneanother for thousands of years.Wemade it all up. Like Santa Claus and theEasterBunny.“Oh,andbytheway…there’snoSantaClausorEasterBunny.Alsobullshit.

Sorry,kid.Dealwithit.“You’reprobablywonderingwhathappenedbeforeyougothere.Anawfullot

ofstuff,actually.Onceweevolvedintohumans,thingsgotprettyinteresting.Wefigured out how to grow food and domesticate animals so we didn’t have tospendallofourtimehunting.Ourtribesgotmuchbigger,andwespreadacrosstheentireplanetlikeanunstoppablevirus.Then,afterfightingabunchofwarswitheachotheroverland,resources,andourmade-upgods,weeventuallygotallofourtribesorganizedintoa‘globalcivilization.’But,honestly,itwasn’tallthat organized, or civilized, andwe continued to fight a lot ofwarswith eachother. But we also figured out how to do science, which helped us developtechnology.Forabunchofhairlessapes,we’veactuallymanagedtoinventsome

pretty incredible things. Computers. Medicine. Lasers. Microwave ovens.Artificial hearts. Atomic bombs. We even sent a few guys to the moon andbroughtthemback.Wealsocreatedaglobalcommunicationsnetworkthatletsus all talk to each other, all around theworld, all the time. Pretty impressive,right?“But that’swhere thebadnews comes in.Ourglobal civilization cameat a

huge cost. We needed a whole bunch of energy to build it, and we got thatenergybyburningfossilfuels,whichcamefromdeadplantsandanimalsburieddeepintheground.Weusedupmostofthisfuelbeforeyougothere,andnowit’sprettymuchallgone.Thismeansthatwenolongerhaveenoughenergytokeepourcivilizationrunninglikeitwasbefore.Sowe’vehadtocutback.Big-time.Wecall this theGlobalEnergyCrisis,and it’sbeengoingonforawhilenow.“Also, it turnsout thatburningall of those fossil fuelshad somenasty side

effects, like raising the temperature of our planet and screwing up theenvironment.Sonowthepolaricecapsaremelting,sealevelsarerising,andtheweather is allmessedup.Plants andanimals aredyingoff in recordnumbers,andlotsofpeoplearestarvingandhomeless.Andwe’restillfightingwarswitheachother,mostlyoverthefewresourceswehaveleft.“Basically,kid,whatthisallmeansisthatlifeisalottougherthanitusedto

be, in the Good Old Days, back before you were born. Things used to beawesome,butnowthey’rekindaterrifying.Tobehonest,thefuturedoesn’tlooktoobright.Youwerebornat apretty crappy time inhistory.And it looks likethings are only gonna get worse from here on out. Human civilization is in‘decline.’Somepeopleevensayit’s‘collapsing.’“You’reprobablywonderingwhat’sgoingtohappentoyou.That’seasy.The

same thing isgoing tohappen toyou thathashappened toeveryotherhumanbeingwhohaseverlived.You’regoingtodie.Wealldie.That’sjusthowitis.“What happens when you die? Well, we’re not completely sure. But the

evidence seems to suggest thatnothing happens.You’re just dead, your brainstopsworking,andthenyou’renotaroundtoaskannoyingquestionsanymore.Those stories you heard? About going to a wonderful place called ‘heaven’wherethereisnomorepainordeathandyouliveforeverinastateofperpetualhappiness?Alsototalbullshit.JustlikeallthatGodstuff.There’snoevidenceofaheavenandthereneverwas.Wemadethatuptoo.Wishfulthinking.Sonowyouhavetolivetherestofyourlifeknowingyou’regoingtodiesomedayanddisappearforever.“Sorry.”

OK,onsecondthought,maybehonestyisn’t thebestpolicyafterall.Maybeitisn’tagoodideatotellanewlyarrivedhumanbeingthathe’sbeenbornintoaworldofchaos,pain,andpovertyjustintimetowatcheverythingfalltopieces.Idiscoveredallofthatgraduallyoverseveralyears,anditstillmademefeellikejumpingoffabridge.Luckily, Ihadaccess to theOASIS,whichwas likehavinganescapehatch

into a better reality.TheOASIS keptme sane. Itwasmyplayground andmypreschool,amagicalplacewhereanythingwaspossible.TheOASIS is thesettingofallmyhappiestchildhoodmemories.Whenmy

momdidn’thavetowork,wewouldloginatthesametimeandplaygamesorgooninteractivestorybookadventurestogether.Sheusedtohavetoforcemetologouteverynight,becauseIneverwantedtoreturntotherealworld.Becausetherealworldsucked.Ineverblamedmymomforthewaythingswere.Shewasavictimoffateand

cruelcircumstance,likeeveryoneelse.Hergenerationhaditthehardest.She’dbeenborn intoaworldofplenty, thenhad towatch itall slowlyvanish.Morethananything,Irememberfeelingsorryforher.Shewasdepressedallthetime,andtakingdrugsseemedtobetheonlythingshetrulyenjoyed.Ofcourse,theywerewhat eventually killedher.When Iwas elevenyears old, she shot a badbatchof something intoherarmanddiedonour ratty fold-out sofabedwhilelistening to music on an old mp3 player I’d repaired and given to her thepreviousChristmas.That waswhen I had tomove inwithmymom’s sister, Alice. Aunt Alice

didn’ttakemeinoutofkindnessorfamilialresponsibility.Shedidittogettheextrafoodvouchersfromthegovernmenteverymonth.Mostofthetime,Ihadtofindfoodonmyown.Thisusuallywasn’taproblem,becauseIhadatalentforfindingandfixingoldcomputersandbustedOASISconsoles,whichIsoldtopawnshops or traded for food vouchers. I earned enough to keep from goinghungry,whichwasmorethanalotofmyneighborscouldsay.Theyearaftermymomdied,Ispentalotoftimewallowinginself-pityand

despair.Itriedtolookonthebrightside,toremindmyselfthat,orphanedornot,I was still better off than most of the kids in Africa. And Asia. And NorthAmerica,too.I’dalwayshadaroofovermyheadandmorethanenoughfoodtoeat.And I had theOASIS.My lifewasn’t so bad.At least that’swhat I kepttellingmyself,inavainattempttostaveofftheepiclonelinessInowfelt.Then theHunt forHalliday’sEaster egg began.Thatwaswhat savedme, I

think.SuddenlyI’dfoundsomethingworthdoing.Adreamworthchasing.For

thelastfiveyears,theHunthadgivenmeagoalandpurpose.Aquesttofulfill.Areasontogetupinthemorning.Somethingtolookforwardto.Themoment I began searching for the egg, the future no longer seemed so

bleak.

I was halfway through the fourth episode of my Family Ties mini-marathonwhen the laundry room door creaked open and my aunt Alice walked in, amalnourished harpy in a housecoat, clutching a basket of dirty clothes. Shelookedmorelucidthanusual,whichwasbadnews.Shewasmucheasiertodealwithwhenshewashigh.Sheglancedoveratmewiththeusuallookofdisdainandstartedtoloadher

clothesintothewasher.Thenherexpressionchangedandshepeekedaroundthedryertogetabetterlookatme.Hereyeswentwidewhenshespottedmylaptop.Iquicklyclosed it andbegan to shove it intomybackpack,but Iknew itwasalreadytoolate.“Handitover,Wade,”sheordered,reachingforthelaptop.“Icanpawnitto

helppayourrent.”“No!”Ishouted,twistingawayfromher.“Comeon,AuntAlice.Ineeditfor

school.”“What you need is to show some gratitude!” she barked. “Everyone else

aroundherehastopayrent.I’mtiredofyouleechingoffofme!”“Youkeepallofmy foodvouchers.Thatmore thancoversmyshareof the

rent.”“Thehell itdoes!”Shetriedagaintograbthelaptopoutofmyhands,butI

refusedtoletgoofit.Sosheturnedandstompedbacktoherroom.Iknewwhatwascomingnext,soIquicklyenteredacommandonmylaptopthatlockeditskeyboardanderasedtheharddrive.AuntAlice returned a few seconds laterwithher boyfriend,Rick,whowas

stillhalf-asleep.Rickwasperpetuallyshirtless,becausehelikedtoshowoffhisimpressivecollectionofprisontattoos.Withoutsayingaword,hewalkedoverandraisedafistatmethreateningly.Iflinchedandhandedoverthelaptop.ThenheandAuntAlicewalkedout,alreadydiscussinghowmuchthecomputermightfetchatapawnshop.Losingthe laptopwasn’tabigdeal. Ihadtwosparesstowedinmyhideout.

Buttheyweren’tnearlyasfast,andIwouldhavetoreloadallofmymediaontothem from backup drives.A total pain in the ass. But itwasmy own fault. Iknewtheriskofbringinganythingofvaluebackhere.Thedarkbluelightofdawnwasstartingtocreepinthroughthelaundryroom

window.Idecideditmightbeagoodideatoleaveforschoolalittleearlytoday.Idressedasquicklyandquietly aspossible,pullingon theworncorduroys,

baggy sweater, and oversize coat that comprised my entire winter wardrobe.Then I put onmy backpack and climbed up onto thewashingmachine.Afterpullingonmygloves,Islidopenthefrost-coveredwindow.ThearcticmorningairstungmycheeksasIgazedoutovertheunevenseaoftrailerrooftops.Myaunt’strailerwasthetopunitina“stack”twenty-twomobilehomeshigh,

making it a level or two taller than the majority of the stacks immediatelysurroundingit.Thetrailersonthebottomlevelrestedontheground,orontheiroriginalconcretefoundations,buttheunitsstackedabovethemweresuspendedona reinforcedmodular scaffold, ahaphazardmetal latticework thathadbeenconstructedpiecemealovertheyears.We lived in the PortlandAvenue Stacks, a sprawling hive of discolored tin

shoeboxesrustingontheshoresofI-40,justwestofOklahomaCity’sdecayingskyscraper core. Itwas a collectionof over fivehundred individual stacks, allconnected to each other by a makeshift network of recycled pipes, girders,support beams, and footbridges. The spires of a dozen ancient constructioncranes(usedtodotheactualstacking)werepositionedaroundthestacks’ever-expandingouterperimeter.Thetoplevelor“roof”ofthestackswasblanketedwithapatchworkarrayof

oldsolarpanelsthatprovidedsupplementalpowertotheunitsbelow.Abundleof hoses and corrugated tubing snaked up and down the side of each stack,supplyingwatertoeachtrailerandcarryingawaysewage(luxuriesnotavailableinsomeoftheotherstacksscatteredaroundthecity).Verylittlesunlightmadeitto the bottom level (known as the “floor”).The dark, narrow strips of groundbetween the stacks were clogged with the skeletons of abandoned cars andtrucks,theirgastanksemptiedandtheirexitroutesblockedofflongago.Oneofourneighbors,Mr.Miller,onceexplainedtomethattrailerparkslike

ourshadoriginallyconsistedofafewdozenmobilehomesarrangedinneatrowson the ground.But after the oil crash and the onset of the energy crisis, largecitieshadbeenfloodedwithrefugeesfromsurroundingsuburbanandruralareas,resulting in a massive urban housing shortage. Real estate within walkingdistanceofabigcitybecamefartoovaluabletowasteonaflatplaneofmobilehomes, so someone had cooked up the brilliant idea of, asMr.Miller put it,“stackingthesumbitches,”tomaximizetheuseofgroundspace.Theideacaughton in abigway, and trailer parks across the countryhadquickly evolved into“stacks”likethisone—strangehybridsofshantytowns,squattersettlements,andrefugee camps. They were now scattered around the outskirts of most majorcities, each one overflowing with uprooted rednecks like my parents, who—

desperateforwork,food,electricity,andreliableOASISaccess—hadfledtheirdying small towns and had used the last of their gasoline (or their beasts ofburden)tohaultheirfamilies,RVs,andtrailerhomestothenearestmetropolis.Every stack in our park stood at least fifteenmobile homes high (with the

occasionalRV,shippingcontainer,Airstreamtrailer,orVWmicrobusmixed inforvariety).Inrecentyears,manyofthestackshadgrowntoaheightoftwentyunitsormore.Thismadea lotofpeoplenervous.Stackcollapsesweren’t thatuncommon,andifthescaffoldsupportsbuckledatthewrongangle,thedominoeffectcouldbringdownfourorfiveoftheneighboringstackstoo.Our trailer was near the northern edge of the stacks, which ran up to a

crumbling highway overpass. From my vantage point at the laundry roomwindow,Icouldseeathinstreamofelectricvehiclescrawlingalongthecrackedasphalt, carrying goods andworkers into the city.As I stared out at the grimskyline, a bright sliver of the sun peekedover the horizon.Watching it rise, Iperformedamentalritual:WheneverIsawthesun,IremindedmyselfthatIwaslookingatastar.Oneofoverahundredbillionstarsinourgalaxy.Agalaxythatwasjustoneofbillionsofothergalaxiesintheobservableuniverse.Thishelpedme keep things in perspective. I’d started doing it after watching a scienceprogramfromtheearly’80scalledCosmos.Islippedout thewindowasquietlyaspossibleand,clutching thebottomof

thewindowframe,sliddownthecoldsurfaceofthetrailer’smetalsiding.Thesteelplatformonwhichthetrailerrestedwasonlyslightlywiderandlongerthanthetraileritself,leavingaledgeaboutafootandahalfwideallthewayaround.Icarefullyloweredmyselfuntilmyfeetrestedonthisledge,thenreacheduptoclosethewindowbehindme.IgrabbedholdofaropeI’dstrungthereatwaistleveltoserveasahandholdandbegantosidestepalongtheledgetothecornerof the platform. From there Iwas able to descend the ladderlike frame of thescaffolding. I almost always took this route when leaving or returning to myaunt’strailer.Aricketymetalstaircasewasboltedtothesideofthestack,butitshook and knocked against the scaffolding, so I couldn’t use it withoutannouncingmy presence. Bad news. In the stacks, it was best to avoid beingheard or seen, whenever possible. There were often dangerous and desperatepeopleabout—thesortwhowouldrobyou,rapeyou,andthensellyourorgansontheblackmarket.Descending the network of metal girders had always reminded me of old

platform videogames like Donkey Kong or BurgerTime. I’d seized upon thisideaafewyearsearlierwhenIcodedmyfirstAtari2600game(agunterriteofpassage, like a Jedi buildinghis first lightsaber). Itwas aPitfall rip-off calledThe Stacks where you had to navigate through a vertical maze of trailers,

collecting junk computers, snagging food-voucher power-ups, and avoidingmethaddictsandpedophilesonyourwaytoschool.Mygamewasalotmorefunthantherealthing.As I climbeddown, Ipausednext to theAirstream trailer threeunitsbelow

ours,wheremyfriendMrs.Gilmorelived.Shewasasweetoldladyinhermid-seventies, and she always seemed toget up ridiculously early. I peeked inherwindow and saw her shuffling around in her kitchen, making breakfast. Shespottedmeafterafewseconds,andhereyeslitup.“Wade!”shesaid,crackingopenherwindow.“Goodmorning,mydearboy.”“Goodmorning,Mrs.G,”Isaid.“IhopeIdidn’tstartleyou.”“Notatall,”shesaid.Shepulledherrobetightagainstthedraftcominginthe

window. “It’s freezing out there! Why don’t you come in and have somebreakfast?I’vegotsomesoybacon.Andthesepowderedeggsaren’ttoobad,ifyouputenoughsaltonthem.…”“Thanks,butIcan’tthismorning,Mrs.G.Ihavetogettoschool.”“All right. Rain check, then.” She blewme a kiss and started to close the

window. “Try not to break your neck climbing around out there,OK, Spider-Man?”“Willdo.Seeya later,Mrs.G.” Iwavedgood-bye toherandcontinuedmy

descent.Mrs.Gilmorewasa total sweetheart.She letmecrashonhercouchwhen I

neededto,althoughitwashardformetosleeptherebecauseofallhercats.Mrs.Gwas super-religious and spentmostofher time in theOASIS, sitting in thecongregationofoneofthosebigonlinemega-churches,singinghymns,listeningtosermons,andtakingvirtualtoursoftheHolyLand.IfixedherancientOASISconsolewhenever itwenton the fritz, and in return, sheansweredmyendlessquestionsaboutwhatithadbeenlikeforhertogrowupduringthe1980s.Sheknew the coolest bits of ’80s trivia—stuff you couldn’t learn from books ormovies.Shewasalwaysprayingformetoo.Tryingherhardesttosavemysoul.I never had the heart to tell her that I thought organized religion was a totalcrock.Itwasapleasantfantasythatgaveherhopeandkepthergoing—whichwasexactlywhattheHuntwasforme.ToquotetheAlmanac:“Peoplewholiveinglasshousesshouldshutthefuckup.”WhenI reached thebottomlevel, I jumpedoff thescaffoldanddropped the

fewremainingfeettotheground.Myrubberbootscrunchedintotheslushandfrozenmud.Itwasstillprettydarkdownhere,soI tookoutmyflashlightandheadedeast,weavingmywaythroughthedarkmaze,doingmybest toremainunseenwhilebeingcarefultoavoidtrippingoverashoppingcart,engineblock,oroneoftheotherpiecesofjunklitteringthenarrowalleysbetweenthestacks.I

rarely sawanyoneout at this timeof themorning.The commuter shuttles ranonly a few times a day, so the residents lucky enough to have a job wouldalreadybewaitingatthebusstopbythehighway.Mostofthemworkedasdaylaborersinthegiantfactoryfarmsthatsurroundedthecity.After walking about half a mile, I reached a giant mound of old cars and

trucks piled haphazardly along the stacks’ eastern perimeter.Decades ago, thecraneshadclearedtheparkofasmanyabandonedvehiclesaspossible,tomakeroomforevenmorestacks,andthey’ddumpedtheminhugepileslikethisoneall around the settlement’s perimeter.Manyof themwere nearly as tall as thestacksthemselves.Iwalkedtotheedgeofthepile,andafteraquickglancearoundtomakesureI

wasn’tbeingwatchedorfollowed,I turnedsideways tosqueeze throughagapbetweentwocrushedcars.Fromthere,Iducked,clambered,andsidesteppedmyway farther and farther into the ramshacklemountain of twistedmetal, until Ireachedasmallopenspaceattherearofaburiedcargovan.Onlytherearthirdofthevanwasvisible.Therestwasconcealedbytheothervehiclesstackedonandaroundit.Twooverturnedpickuptruckslayacrossthevan’sroofatdifferentangles,butmostoftheirweightwassupportedbythecarsstackedoneitherside,creatingakindofprotectivearchthathadpreventedthevanfrombeingcrushedbythemountainofvehiclespiledaboveit.IpulledoutachainIkeptaroundmyneck,onwhichtherehungasinglekey.

Inastrokeofluck,thiskeyhadstillbeenhangingfromthevan’signitionwhenI’d first discovered it.Many of these vehicles had been inworking conditionwhen they were abandoned. Their owners had simply no longer been able toaffordfuelforthem,sothey’djustparkedthemandwalkedaway.I pocketed my flashlight and unlocked the van’s rear right door. It opened

aboutafootandahalf,givingmejustenoughroomtosqueezeinside.Ipulledthe door closed behind me and locked it again. The van’s rear doors had nowindows,soIwashunchedoverintotaldarknessforasecond,untilmyfingersfoundtheoldpowerstripI’dduct-tapedtotheceiling.Iflippediton,andanolddesklampfloodedthetinyspacewithlight.Thecrumpledgreenroofofacompactcarcoveredthecrushedopeningwhere

thewindshield had been, but the damage to the van’s front end didn’t extendbeyondthecab.Therestoftheinteriorremainedintact.Someonehadremovedallofthevan’sseats(probablytouseasfurniture),leavingasmall“room”aboutfourfeetwide,fourfeethigh,andninefeetlong.Thiswasmyhideout.I’d discovered it four years earlier, while searching for discarded computer

parts.WhenIfirstopenedthedoorandgazedintothevan’sdarkenedinterior,I

knewrightawaythatI’dfoundsomethingofimmeasurablevalue:privacy.Thiswas a place no one else knew about, where I wouldn’t have to worry aboutgetting hassled or slapped around by my aunt or whatever loser she wascurrentlydating.Icouldkeepmythingsherewithoutworryingthey’dbestolen.And,mostimportant,itwasaplacewhereIcouldaccesstheOASISinpeace.Thevanwasmyrefuge.MyBatcave.MyFortressofSolitude.ItwaswhereI

attended school, did my homework, read books, watchedmovies, and playedvideogames.ItwasalsowhereIconductedmyongoingquesttofindHalliday’sEasteregg.I’dcoveredthewalls,floor,andceilingwithStyrofoameggcartonsandpieces

of carpeting in an effort to soundproof the van as much as possible. Severalcardboardboxesofbustedlaptopsandcomputerpartssatinthecorner,nexttoarack of old car batteries and a modified exercise bike I’d rigged up as arecharger.Theonlyfurniturewasafoldinglawnchair.I droppedmy backpack, shrugged offmy coat, and hopped on the exercise

bike.Charging the batterieswas usually the only physical exercise I got eachday.Ipedaleduntilthemetersaidthebatterieshadafullcharge,thensatdowninmychairandswitchedonthesmallelectricheaterIkeptbesideit.Ipulledoffmyglovesandrubbedmyhandsinfrontofthefilamentsastheybegantoglowbrightorange.Icouldn’tleavetheheateronforverylong,oritwoulddrainthebatteries.I opened the rat-proofmetal boxwhere I keptmy food cache and took out

somebottledwaterandapacketofpowderedmilk.Imixedthesetogetherinabowl,thendumpedinagenerousservingofFruitRockscereal.OnceI’dwolfeditdown, I retrievedanoldplasticStarTrek lunchbox Ikepthiddenunder thevan’scrusheddashboard. Insideweremyschool-issuedOASISconsole,hapticgloves,andvisor.These itemswere,by far, themostvaluable things Iowned.Fartoovaluabletocarryaroundwithme.Ipulledonmyelastichapticglovesandflexedmyfingerstomakesurenone

of the joints was sticking. Then I grabbed my OASIS console, a flat blackrectangleaboutthesizeofapaperbackbook.Ithadawirelessnetworkantennabuilt into it, but the reception inside the vanwas for shit, since itwas buriedunderahugemoundofdensemetal.So I’d riggedupanexternalantennaandmounted iton thehoodofacarat the topof the junkpile.TheantennacablesnakedupthroughaholeI’dpunchedinthevan’sceiling.Ipluggeditintoaportonthesideoftheconsole,thenslippedonmyvisor.Itfitsnuglyaroundmyeyeslikeapairofswimmer’sgoggles,blockingoutallexternallight.Smallearbudsextendedfromthevisor’stemplesandautomaticallypluggedthemselvesintomyears. The visor also housed two built-in stereo voicemicrophones to pick up

everythingIsaid.Ipoweredontheconsoleandinitiatedthelog-insequence.Isawabriefflash

ofredasthevisorscannedmyretinas.ThenIclearedmythroatandsaidmylog-inpassphrase,beingcarefultoenunciate:“YouhavebeenrecruitedbytheStarLeaguetodefendtheFrontieragainstXurandtheKo-DanArmada.”Mypassphrasewasalsoverified,alongwithmyvoicepattern,andthenIwas

loggedin.Thefollowingtextappeared,superimposedinthecenterofmyvirtualdisplay:

Identityverificationsuccessful.WelcometotheOASIS,Parzival!

LoginCompleted:07:53:21OST-2.10.2045Asthetextfadedaway,itwasreplacedbyashortmessage,justthreewords

long. This message had been embedded in the log-in sequence by JamesHallidayhimself,whenhe’dfirstprogrammedtheOASIS,asanhomagetothesimulation’sdirectancestors,thecoin-operatedvideogamesofhisyouth.Thesethreewordswere always the last thing anOASISuser sawbefore leaving therealworldandenteringthevirtualone:

READYPLAYERONE

Myavatarmaterializedinfrontofmylockeronthesecondfloorofmyhighschool—theexact spotwhere I’dbeen standingwhen I’d loggedout thenightbefore.I glanced up and down the hallway.Myvirtual surroundings looked almost

(but not quite) real. Everything inside theOASISwas beautifully rendered inthree dimensions. Unless you pulled focus and stopped to examine yoursurroundingsmoreclosely,itwaseasytoforgetthateverythingyouwereseeingwas computer-generated. And that was with my crappy school-issued OASISconsole.I’dheardthatifyouaccessedthesimulationwithanewstate-of-the-artimmersionrig,itwasalmostimpossibletotelltheOASISfromreality.I touchedmylockerdooranditpoppedopenwithasoftmetallicclick.The

insidewassparselydecorated.ApictureofPrincessLeiaposingwithablasterpistol. A group photo of the members of Monty Python in theirHoly Grailcostumes.JamesHalliday’sTimemagazine cover. I reachedupand tapped thestackoftextbooksonthelocker’stopshelfandtheyvanished,thenreappearedinmyavatar’siteminventory.Aside frommy textbooks,my avatar had only a fewmeager possessions: a

flashlight,anironshortsword,asmallbronzeshield,andasuitofbandedleatherarmor.These itemswere all nonmagical andof lowquality, but theywere thebestIcouldafford.ItemsintheOASIShadjustasmuchvalueasthingsintherealworld(sometimesmore),andyoucouldn’tpayforthemwithfoodvouchers.TheOASIScreditwasthecoinoftherealm,andinthesedarktimes,itwasalsooneoftheworld’smoststablecurrencies,valuedhigherthanthedollar,pound,euro,oryen.Asmallmirrorwasmountedinsidemylockerdoor,andIcaughtaglimpseof

myvirtual self as I closed it. I’ddesignedmyavatar’s face andbody to look,moreorless,likemyown.Myavatarhadaslightlysmallernosethanme,andhewas taller. And thinner. Andmoremuscular. And he didn’t have any teenageacne.Butasidefromtheseminordetails,welookedmoreorlessidentical.The

school’sstrictlyenforceddresscoderequiredthatallstudentavatarsbehuman,and of the same gender and age as the student. No giant two-headedhermaphrodite demon unicorn avatars were allowed. Not on school grounds,anyway.You could give your OASIS avatar any name you liked, as long as it was

unique. Meaning you had to pick a name that hadn’t already been taken bysomeoneelse.Youravatar’snamewasalsoyoure-mailaddressandchatID,soyouwantedit tobecoolandeasytoremember.Celebritieshadbeenknowntopay huge sums of money to buy an avatar name they wanted from a cyber-squatterwhohadalreadyreservedit.When I’d first created my OASIS account, I’d named my avatar

Wade_the_Great. After that, I kept changing it every few months, usually tosomething equally ridiculous. Butmy avatar had now had the same name forover five years.On the day theHunt began, the day I’d decided to become agunter,I’drenamedmyavatarParzival,aftertheknightofArthurianlegendwhohad found theHolyGrail. The othermore common spellings of that knight’sname, Perceval and Percival, had already been taken by other users. But IpreferredthenameParzival,anyway.Ithoughtithadaniceringtoit.Peoplerarelyusedtheirrealnamesonline.Anonymitywasoneofthemajor

perksof theOASIS. Inside the simulation,nooneknewwhoyou reallywere,unlessyouwanted them to.Muchof theOASIS’spopularityandculturewerebuilt around this fact. Your real name, fingerprints, and retinal patterns werestored in your OASIS account, but Gregarious Simulation Systems kept thatinformation encrypted and confidential. Even GSS’s own employees couldn’tlook up an avatar’s true identity. Back when Halliday was still running thecompany,GSShadwontherighttokeepeveryOASISuser’sidentityprivateinalandmarkSupremeCourtruling.WhenI’dfirstenrolledintheOASISpublicschoolsystem,Iwasrequiredto

give them my real name, avatar name, mailing address, and Social Securitynumber. That information was stored in my student profile, but only myprincipalhadaccesstothat.NoneofmyteachersorfellowstudentsknewwhoIreallywas,andviceversa.Studentsweren’tallowedtousetheiravatarnameswhiletheywereatschool.

This was to prevent teachers from having to say ridiculous things like“Pimp_Grease,pleasepayattention!”or“BigWang69,wouldyoustandupandgiveusyourbookreport?”Instead,studentswererequiredtousetheirrealfirstnames,followedbyanumber,todifferentiatethemfromotherstudentswiththesamename.WhenIenrolled,therewerealreadytwootherstudentsatmyschoolwith the firstnameWade, so I’dbeenassigned thestudent IDofWade3.That

namefloatedabovemyavatar’sheadwheneverIwasonschoolgrounds.The school bell rang and a warning flashed in the corner of my display,

informingme that Ihad fortyminutesuntil thestartof firstperiod. Ibegan towalkmyavatardownthehall,usingaseriesofsubtlehandmotionstocontrolitsmovementsandactions.Icouldalsousevoicecommandstomovearound,ifmyhandswereotherwiseoccupied.IstrolledinthedirectionofmyWorldHistoryclassroom,smilingandwaving

tothefamiliarfacesIpassed.IwasgoingtomissthisplacewhenIgraduatedina few months. I wasn’t looking forward to leaving school. I didn’t have themoney to attend college, not even one in theOASIS, andmy gradesweren’tgoodenoughforascholarship.Myonlyplanaftergraduationwastobecomeafull-time gunter. I didn’t havemuch choice.Winning the contestwasmy onechanceofescapingthestacks.UnlessIwantedtosignafive-yearindenturementcontractwithsomecorporation,andthatwasaboutasappealingtomeasrollingaroundinbrokenglassinmybirthdaysuit.AsIcontinueddownthehallway,otherstudentsbegantomaterializeinfront

of their lockers, ghostly apparitions that rapidly solidified. The sound ofchattering teenagers began to echo up and down the corridor. Before long, Iheardaninsulthurledinmydirection.“Hey, hey! If it isn’tWadeThree!” I heard a voice shout. I turned and saw

Todd13, an obnoxious avatar I recognized frommyAlgebra II class. Hewasstandingwith several of his friends. “Great outfit, slick,” he said. “Where didyousnagthesweetthreads?”MyavatarwaswearingablackT-shirtandbluejeans,oneofthefreedefault

skins you could select when you created your account. Like his Cro-Magnonfriends,Todd13woreanexpensivedesigner skin,probablypurchased in someoffworldmall.“Yourmomboughtthemforme,”Iretortedwithoutbreakingmystride.“Tell

herIsaidthanks,thenexttimeyoustopathometobreast-feedandpickupyourallowance.”Childish,Iknow.Butvirtualornot,thiswasstillhighschool—themorechildishaninsult,themoreeffectiveitwas.My jab elicited laughter from a few of his friends and the other students

standingnearby.Todd13scowledandhisfaceactuallyturnedred—asignthathehadn’tbotheredtoturnoffhisaccount’sreal-timeemotionfeature,whichmadeyouravatarmirroryourfacialexpressionsandbodylanguage.Hewasabouttoreply, but I muted him first, so I didn’t hear what he said. I just smiled andcontinuedonmyway.Theability tomutemypeerswasoneofmyfavorite thingsaboutattending

schoolonline,andItookadvantageofitalmostdaily.Thebestthingaboutitwas

that theycouldsee thatyou’dmuted them,and theycouldn’tdoadamn thingaboutit.Therewasneveranyfightingonschoolgrounds.Thesimulationsimplydidn’tallowit.TheentireplanetofLuduswasano-PvPzone,meaningthatnoplayer-versus-player combat was permitted. At this school, the only realweaponswerewords,soI’dbecomeskilledatwieldingthem.

I’d attended school in the realworldupuntil the sixthgrade. It hadn’t beenavery pleasant experience. I was a painfully shy, awkward kid, with low self-esteem and almost no social skills—a side effect of spending most of mychildhoodinsidetheOASIS.Online,Ididn’thaveaproblemtalkingtopeopleormakingfriends.Butintherealworld,interactingwithotherpeople—especiallykidsmyownage—mademeanervouswreck.Ineverknewhowtoactorwhattosay,andwhenIdidworkupthecouragetospeak,Ialwaysseemedtosaythewrongthing.Myappearancewaspartoftheproblem.Iwasoverweight,andhadbeenfor

aslongasIcouldremember.Mybankruptdietofgovernment-subsidizedsugar-and-starch-ladenfoodwasacontributingfactor,butIwasalsoanOASISaddict,so the only exercise I usually got back then was running away from bulliesbeforeandafterschool.Tomakemattersworse,mylimitedwardrobeconsistedentirely of ill-fitting clothes from thrift stores and donation bins—the socialequivalentofhavingabull’s-eyepaintedonmyforehead.Even so, I triedmy best to fit in.Year after year,my eyeswould scan the

lunchroomlikeaT-1000,searchingforacliquethatmightacceptme.Buteventheotheroutcastswantednothingtodowithme.Iwastooweird,evenfortheweirdos.Andgirls?Talking togirlswasoutof thequestion.Tome, theywerelikesomeexoticalienspecies,bothbeautifulandterrifying.WheneverIgotnearoneofthem,Iinvariablybrokeoutinacoldsweatandlosttheabilitytospeakincompletesentences.Forme, schoolhadbeen aDarwinian exercise.Adailygauntlet of ridicule,

abuse, and isolation. By the time I entered sixth grade, I was beginning towonderifI’dbeabletomaintainmysanityuntilgraduation,stillsixlongyearsaway.Then, one glorious day, our principal announced that any student with a

passinggrade-pointaveragecouldapplyforatransfertothenewOASISpublicschool system.The realpublic school system, theone runby thegovernment,hadbeen anunderfunded, overcrowded trainwreck for decades.Andnow theconditionsatmanyschoolshadgottensoterriblethateverykidwithhalfabrainwasbeingencouragedtostayathomeandattendschoolonline.Inearlybroke

mynecksprintingtotheschoolofficetosubmitmyapplication.Itwasaccepted,andItransferredtoOASISPublicSchool#1873thefollowingsemester.Priortomytransfer,myOASISavatarhadneverleftIncipio,theplanetatthe

center of Sector One where new avatars were spawned at the time of theircreation.Therewasn’tmuch todoon Incipio except chatwithother noobsorshopinoneofthegiantvirtualmallsthatcoveredtheplanet.Ifyouwantedtogosomewheremoreinteresting,youhadtopayateleportationfaretogetthere,andthatcostmoney,somethingIdidn’thave.SomyavatarwasstrandedonIncipio.That is,untilmynewschoole-mailedmea teleportationvoucher tocover thecostofmyavatar’stransporttoLudus,theplanetwherealloftheOASISpublicschoolswerelocated.Therewere hundreds of school campuses here onLudus, spread out evenly

across the planet’s surface. The schools were all identical, because the sameconstruction codewas copied and pasted into a different locationwhenever anewschoolwasneeded.And since thebuildingswere just piecesof software,their design wasn’t limited by monetary constraints, or even by the laws ofphysics.Soeveryschoolwasagrandpalaceof learning,withpolishedmarblehallways, cathedral-like classrooms, zero-g gymnasiums, and virtual librariescontainingevery(schoolboard–approved)bookeverwritten.OnmyfirstdayatOPS#1873,IthoughtI’ddiedandgonetoheaven.Now,

insteadofrunningagauntletofbulliesanddrugaddictsonmywalktoschooleachmorning,Iwentstraighttomyhideoutandstayedthereallday.Bestofall,intheOASIS,noonecouldtellthatIwasfat,thatIhadacne,orthatIworethesameshabbyclotheseveryweek.Bulliescouldn’tpeltmewithspitballs,givemeatomicwedgies,orpummelmebythebikerackafterschool.Noonecouldeventouchme.Inhere,Iwassafe.

When I arrived inmyWorldHistory classroom, several studentswere alreadyseatedattheirdesks.Theiravatarsallsatmotionless,withtheireyesclosed.Thiswasa signal that theywere“engaged,”meaning theywerecurrentlyonphonecalls,browsingtheWeb,orloggedintochatrooms.ItwaspoorOASISetiquettetotrytotalktoanengagedavatar.Theyusuallyjustignoredyou,andyou’dgetanautomatedmessagetellingyoutopissoff.ItookaseatatmydeskandtappedtheEngageiconattheedgeofmydisplay.

Myownavatar’seyesslidshut,butIcouldstillseemysurroundings.I tappedanother icon, and a large two-dimensional Web browser window appeared,suspendedinspacedirectlyinfrontofme.Windowslikethisonewerevisibletoonlymy avatar, so no one could read overmy shoulder (unless I selected the

optiontoallowit).My homepage was set to the Hatchery, one of the more popular gunter

messageforums.TheHatchery’ssiteinterfacewasdesignedtolookandoperatelikeanoldpre-Internetdial-upbulletinboardsystem,completewiththescreechof a 300-baud modem during the log-in sequence. Very cool. I spent a fewminutes scanning themost recentmessage threads, taking in the latest gunternews and rumors. I rarely posted anything to the boards, even though Imadesure to check themeveryday. I didn’t seemuchof interest thismorning.Theusual gunter clan flame wars. Ongoing arguments about the “correct”interpretationofsomecrypticpassageinAnorak’sAlmanac.High-levelavatarsbraggingaboutsomenewmagicitemorartifactthey’dobtained.Thiscraphadbeen going on for years now. In the absence of any real progress, guntersubculture had becomemired in bravado, bullshit, and pointless infighting. Itwassad,really.My favorite message threads were those devoted to bashing the Sixers.

“Sixers” was the derogatory nickname gunters had given to employees ofInnovative Online Industries. IOI (pronounced eye-oh-eye) was a globalcommunicationsconglomerateandtheworld’slargestInternetserviceprovider.AlargeportionofIOI’sbusinesscenteredaroundprovidingaccesstotheOASISandonsellinggoodsandservices inside it.For this reason, IOIhadattemptedseveral hostile takeovers of Gregarious Simulation Systems, all of which hadfailed.NowtheyweretryingtoseizecontrolofGSSbyexploitingaloopholeinHalliday’swill.IOIhadcreatedanewdepartmentwithin thecompany that theycalled their

“OologyDivision.”(“Oology”wasoriginallydefinedas“thescienceofstudyingbirds’eggs,”butinrecentyearsithadtakenonasecondmeaning:the“science”of searching for Halliday’s Easter egg.) IOI’s Oology Division had but onepurpose:towinHalliday’scontestandseizecontrolofhisfortune,hiscompany,andtheOASISitself.Likemostgunters,IwashorrifiedatthethoughtofIOItakingcontrolofthe

OASIS.The company’sPRmachine hadmade its intentions crystal clear. IOIbelievedthatHallidayneverproperlymonetizedhiscreation,andtheywantedtoremedy that. They would start charging a monthly fee for access to thesimulation. They would plaster advertisements on every visible surface. Useranonymityand free speechwouldbecome thingsof thepast.Themoment IOItook it over, theOASISwould cease to be the open-source virtual utopia I’dgrown up in. It would become a corporate-run dystopia, an overpriced themeparkforwealthyelitists.IOI required its egghunters,which it referred toas“oologists,” touse their

employee numbers as theirOASIS avatar names. These numberswere all sixdigits in length, and theyalsobeganwith thenumeral“6,” soeveryonebegancalling them the Sixers. These days, most gunters referred to them as “theSux0rz.”(Becausetheysucked.)TobecomeaSixer,youhadtosignacontractstipulating,amongotherthings,

that if you foundHalliday’s egg, theprizewouldbecome the solepropertyofyour employer. In return, IOI gave you a bimonthly paycheck, food, lodging,health-care benefits, and a retirement plan. The company also provided youravatar with high-end armor, vehicles, and weapons, and covered all of yourteleportationfares.JoiningtheSixerswasalotlikejoiningthemilitary.Sixersweren’thard tospot,because theyall looked identical.Theywereall

required touse thesamehulkingmaleavatar (regardlessof theoperator’s truegender), with close-cropped dark hair and facial features left at the systemdefaultsettings.Andtheyallworethesamenavyblueuniform.Theonlywaytotellthesecorporatedronesapartwasbycheckingthesix-digitemployeenumberstampedontheirrightbreast,justbeneaththeIOIcorporatelogo.Like most gunters, I loathed the Sixers and was disgusted by their very

existence. By hiring an army of contract egg hunters, IOI was perverting theentirespiritofthecontest.Ofcourse,itcouldbearguedthatallthegunterswhohadjoinedclansweredoingthesamething.Therewerenowhundredsofgunterclans, somewith thousands ofmembers, allworking together to find the egg.Each clan was bound by an ironclad legal agreement stating that if one clanmember won the contest, all members would share the prize. Solos like medidn’t care much for the clans, either, but we still respected them as fellowgunters—unliketheSixers,whosegoalwastohandtheOASISovertoanevilmultinationalconglomerateintentonruiningit.My generation had never known aworldwithout theOASIS.To us, itwas

muchmore than a gameor an entertainment platform. It had been an integralpartofourlivesforasfarbackaswecouldremember.We’dbeenbornintoanugly world, and the OASIS was our one happy refuge. The thought of thesimulationbeingprivatizedandhomogenizedbyIOIhorrifiedusinawaythatthose born before its introduction founddifficult to understand. For us, itwaslikesomeonethreateningtotakeawaythesun,orchargeafeetolookupatthesky.TheSixersgaveguntersacommonenemy,andSixerbashingwasafavorite

pastime inour forumsandchat rooms.A lotofhigh-levelguntershada strictpolicyofkilling (or trying tokill) everySixerwhocrossed theirpath.Severalwebsites were devoted to tracking Sixer activities and movements, and someguntersspentmoretimehuntingtheSixersthantheydidsearchingfortheegg.

The bigger clans actually held a yearly competition called “Eighty-Six theSux0rz,”with a prize for the clanwhomanaged to kill the largest number ofthem.Aftercheckingafewothergunterforums,Itappedabookmarkiconforone

of my favorite websites, Arty’sMissives, the blog of a female gunter namedArt3mis(pronounced“Artemis”).I’ddiscovereditaboutthreeyearsagoandhadbeenaloyalreadereversince.ShepostedthesegreatramblingessaysabouthersearchforHalliday’segg,whichshecalleda“maddeningMacGuffinhunt.”Shewrotewithanendearing,intelligentvoice,andherentrieswerefilledwithself-deprecatinghumorandwitty, sardonicasides. Inaddition topostingher (oftenhysterical) interpretations of passages in the Almanac, she also linked to thebooks,movies,TVshows,andmusicshewascurrentlystudyingaspartofherHallidayresearch.Iassumedthatallofthesepostswerefilledwithmisdirectionandmisinformation,buttheywerestillhighlyentertaining.ItprobablygoeswithoutsayingthatIhadamassivecyber-crushonArt3mis.She occasionally posted screenshots of her raven-haired avatar, and I

sometimes(always)savedthemtoafolderonmyharddrive.Heravatarhadapretty face, but it wasn’t unnaturally perfect. In the OASIS, you got used toseeingfreakishlybeautifulfacesoneveryone.ButArt3mis’sfeaturesdidn’tlookasthoughthey’dbeenselectedfromabeautydrop-downmenuonsomeavatarcreationtemplate.Herfacehadthedistinctivelookofarealperson’s,asifhertruefeatureshadbeenscanned inandmappedontoheravatar.Bighazeleyes,rounded cheekbones, a pointy chin, and a perpetual smirk. I found herunbearablyattractive.Art3mis’sbodywasalsosomewhatunusual. In theOASIS,youusuallysaw

oneoftwobodyshapesonfemaleavatars:theabsurdlythinyetwildlypopularsupermodelframe,orthetop-heavy,wasp-waistedpornstarletphysique(whichlooked even less natural in the OASIS than it did in the real world). ButArt3mis’sframewasshortandRubenesque.Allcurves.IknewthecrushIhadonArt3miswasbothsillyandill-advised.WhatdidI

reallyknowabouther?She’dneverrevealedhertrueidentity,ofcourse.Orherageor location in the realworld.Therewasno tellingwhat she really lookedlike.Shecouldbefifteenorfifty.Alotofguntersevenquestionedwhethershewasreallyfemale,butIwasn’toneofthem.ProbablybecauseIcouldn’tbeartheidea that the girl with whom I was virtually smitten might actually be somemiddle-ageddudenamedChuck,withbackhairandmale-patternbaldness.IntheyearssinceI’dfirststartedreadingArty’sMissives,ithadbecomeone

ofthemostpopularblogsontheInternet,nowloggingseveralmillionhitsaday.AndArt3miswas now somethingof a celebrity, at least in gunter circles.But

famehadn’tgonetoherhead.Herwritingwasstillasfunnyandself-deprecatingasever.Hernewestblogpostwastitled“TheJohnHughesBlues,”anditwasanin-depthtreatiseonhersixfavoriteJohnHughesteenmovies,whichshedividedintotwoseparatetrilogies:The“DorkyGirlFantasies”trilogy(SixteenCandles,Pretty in Pink, and Some Kind ofWonderful) and the “Dorky Boy Fantasies”trilogy(TheBreakfastClub,WeirdScience,andFerrisBueller’sDayOff).JustasI’dfinishedreadingit,an instantmessagewindowpoppeduponmy

display.Itwasmybestfriend,Aech.(OK,ifyouwanttosplithairs,hewasmyonlyfriend,notcountingMrs.Gilmore.)

Aech:Topo’themorning,amigo.Parzival:Hola,compadre.Aech:Whatareyouupto?Parzival:Justsurfingtheturf.You?Aech:GottheBasementonline.Comeandhangoutbeforeschool,fool.Parzival:Sweet!I’llbethereinasec.

IclosedtheIMwindowandcheckedthe time.Istillhadabouthalfanhour

until class started. I grinned and tapped a small door icon at the edge ofmydisplay,thenselectedAech’schatroomfrommylistoffavorites.

ThesystemverifiedthatIwasonthechatroom’saccesslistandallowedmeto enter. My view of the classroom shrank from the limits of my peripheralvision toasmall thumbnailwindowin the lowerrightofmydisplay,allowingmetomonitorwhatwasinfrontofmyavatar.TherestofmyfieldofvisionwasnowfilledwiththeinteriorofAech’schatroom.Myavatarappearedjustinsidethe “entrance,” a door at the top of a carpeted staircase. The door didn’t leadanywhere.Itdidn’tevenopen.ThiswasbecausetheBasementanditscontentsdidn’texistasapartoftheOASIS.Chatroomswerestand-alonesimulations—temporaryvirtualspacesthatavatarscouldaccessfromanywhereinOASIS.Myavatar wasn’t actually “in” the chat room. It only appeared that way.Wade3/Parzivalwas still sitting inmyWorldHistory classroomwith his eyesclosed.Loggingintoachatroomwasalittlelikebeingintwoplacesatonce.Aech had named his chat room theBasement.He’d programmed it to look

likealargesuburbanrecroom,circathelate1980s.Oldmovieandcomicbookposterscoveredthewood-paneledwalls.AvintageRCAtelevisionstoodinthecenter of the room, hooked up to a Betamax VCR, a LaserDisc player, andseveralvintagevideogameconsoles.Bookshelveslinedthefarwall,filledwithrole-playinggamesupplementsandbackissuesofDragonmagazine.Hosting a chat room this large wasn’t cheap, but Aech could afford it. He

madequiteabitofdoughcompetingintelevisedPvParenagamesafterschooland on the weekends. Aechwas one of the highest-ranked combatants in theOASIS, in both the Deathmatch and Capture the Flag leagues. He was evenmorefamousthanArt3mis.Overthepastfewyears,theBasementhadbecomeahighlyexclusivehangout

forelitegunters.Aechgrantedaccessonlytopeoplehedeemedworthy,sobeinginvitedtohangoutintheBasementwasabighonor,especiallyforathird-levelnobodylikeme.AsIdescendedthestaircase,Isawafewdozenotherguntersmillingaround,

with avatars that varied wildly in appearance. There were humans, cyborgs,

demons,darkelves,Vulcans,andvampires.Mostofthemweregatheredaroundtherowofoldarcadegamesagainstthewall.Afewothersstoodbytheancientstereo(currentlyblasting“TheWildBoys”byDuranDuran),browsingthroughAech’sgiantrackofvintagecassettetapes.Aechhimselfwas sprawledononeof thechat room’s threecouches,which

werearrayed inaU-shape in frontof theTV.Aech’savatarwasa tall,broad-shoulderedCaucasianmalewithdarkhairandbrowneyes.I’daskedhimonceifhe lookedanything likehisavatar in real life,andhe’d jokingly replied,“Yes.Butinreallife,I’mevenmorehandsome.”AsIwalkedover,heglancedupfromtheIntellivisiongamehewasplaying.

HisdistinctiveCheshiregrinstretchedfromeartoear.“Z!”heshouted.“Whatisup, amigo?”He stretchedout his right hand andgaveme five as I droppedontothecouchoppositehim.Aechhadstartedcallingme“Z”shortlyafterImethim.Helikedtogivepeoplesingle-letternicknames.Aechpronouncedhisownavatar’snamejustliketheletter“H.”“Whatup,Humperdinck?”Isaid.Thiswasagameweplayed.Ialwayscalled

him by some random H name, like Harry, Hubert, Henry, or Hogan. I wasmakingguessesathis real firstname,which,he’donceconfided tome,beganwiththeletter“H.”I’dknownAechforalittleoverthreeyears.HewasalsoastudentonLudus,a

senior at OPS #1172, which was on the opposite side of the planet frommyschool. We’d met one weekend in a public gunter chat room and hit it offimmediately,becausewe sharedall of the same interests.Which is to sayoneinterest:atotal,all-consumingobsessionwithHallidayandhisEasteregg.Afewminutes into our first conversation, I knew Aech was the real deal, an elitegunterwithsomeseriousmentalkungfu.Hehadhis’80striviadowncold,andnot just the canon stuff, either. He was a true Halliday scholar. And he’dapparentlyseenthesamequalitiesinme,becausehe’dgivenmehiscontactcardand invitedme to hang out in theBasementwhenever I liked.He’d beenmyclosestfriendeversince.Overtheyears,afriendlyrivalryhadgraduallydevelopedbetweenus.Wedid

a lot of trash-talking about which one of us would get his name up on theScoreboard first. We were constantly trying to out-geek each other with ourknowledgeofobscureguntertrivia.Sometimesweevenconductedourresearchtogether.Thisusuallyconsistedofwatchingcheesy’80smoviesandTVshowshereinhischatroom.Wealsoplayedalotofvideogames,ofcourse.AechandIhad wasted countless hours on two-player classics like Contra, Golden Axe,HeavyBarrel,SmashTV,andIkariWarriors.Asidefromyourstruly,Aechwasthebestall-aroundgamerI’deverencountered.Wewereevenlymatchedatmost

games,buthecouldtrouncemeatcertaintitles,especiallyanythinginthefirst-personshootergenre.Thatwashisareaofexpertise,afterall.Ididn’tknowanythingaboutwhoAechwas in therealworld,but Igot the

sensehishomelifewasn’tthatgreat.Likeme,heseemedtospendeverywakingmoment logged into theOASIS.And even thoughwe’dnever actuallymet inperson,he’dtoldmemorethanoncethatIwashisbestfriend,soIassumedhewasjustasisolatedandlonelyasIwas.“Sowhat did you do after you bailed last night?” he asked, tossingme the

other Intellivision controller.We’d hung out here in his chat room for a fewhoursthepreviousevening,watchingoldJapanesemonstermovies.“Nada,”Isaid.“Wenthomeandbrusheduponafewclassiccoin-ops.”“Unnecessary.”“Yeah.But Iwas in themood.” I didn’t ask himwhat he’d done the night

before,andhedidn’tvolunteeranydetails.Iknewhe’dprobablygonetoGygax,orsomewhereequallyawesome, tospeedrunthroughafewquestsandrackupsomeXPs.He just didn’twant to rub it in.Aech could afford to spend a fairamountoftimeoff-world,followingupleadsandsearchingfortheCopperKey.Butheneverlordedthisoverme,orridiculedmefornothavingenoughdoughto teleport anywhere.And he never insultedme by offering to loanme a fewcredits. Itwasanunspokenruleamonggunters:Ifyouwereasolo,youdidn’twant or need help, from anyone.Gunterswhowanted help joined a clan, andAechandIbothagreed thatclanswere forsuck-assesandposeurs.We’dbothvowed to remainsolos for life.Westilloccasionallyhaddiscussionsabout theegg,buttheseconversationswerealwaysguarded,andwewerecarefultoavoidtalkingaboutspecifics.AfterIbeatAechat threeroundsofTron:DeadlyDiscs,he threwdownhis

Intellivisioncontrollerindisgustandgrabbedamagazineoffthefloor.Itwasanold issueofStarlog. I recognizedRutgerHauer on the cover, in aLadyhawkepromotionalphoto.“Starlog,eh?”Isaid,noddingmyapproval.“Yep. Downloaded every single issue from the Hatchery’s archive. Still

workingmywaythrough’em.IwasjustreadingthisgreatpieceonEwoks:TheBattleforEndor.”“MadeforTV.Releasedin1985,”I recited.StarWars triviawasoneofmy

specialties.“Totalgarbage.AreallowpointinthehistoryoftheWars.”“Saysyou,assface.Ithassomegreatmoments.”“No,” I said, shaking my head. “It doesn’t. It’s even worse than that first

Ewokflick,CaravanofCourage.TheyshouldacalleditCaravanofSuck.”Aech rolledhiseyesandwentback to reading.Hewasn’tgoing to take the

bait. Ieyed themagazine’scover.“Hey,canIhavea lookat thatwhenyou’redone?”Hegrinned.“Why?SoyoucanreadthearticleonLadyhawke?”“Maybe.”“Man,youjustlovethatcrapburger,don’tyou?”“Blowme,Aech.”“Howmany times have you seen that sapfest? I know you’vemademe sit

throughitatleasttwice.”Hewasbaitingmenow.HeknewLadyhawkewasoneofmyguiltypleasures,andthatI’dseenitovertwodozentimes.“Iwasdoingyoua favorbymakingyouwatch it,noob,” I said. I shoveda

newcartridgeintotheIntellivisionconsoleandstartedupasingle-playergameofAstrosmash.“You’llthankmeoneday.Waitandsee.Ladyhawkeiscanon.”“Canon”was the termweused toclassifyanymovie,book,game, song,or

TVshowofwhichHallidaywasknowntohavebeenafan.“Surely,youmustbejoking,”Aechsaid.“No,Iamnotjoking.Anddon’tcallmeShirley.”Heloweredthemagazineandleanedforward.“ThereisnowayHallidaywas

afanofLadyhawke.Iguaranteeit.”“Where’syourproof,dipshit?”Iasked.“Themanhadtaste.That’salltheproofIneed.”“Then please explain to me why he owned Ladyhawke on both VHS and

LaserDisc?”AlistofallthefilmsinHalliday’scollectionatthetimeofhisdeathwas included in the appendices of Anorak’s Almanac. We both had the listmemorized.“Theguywasabillionaire!Heownedmillionsofmovies,mostofwhichhe

probablyneverevenwatched!HehadDVDsofHowardtheDuckandKrull,too.Thatdoesn’tmeanhelikedthem,asshat.Anditsureashelldoesn’tmakethemcanon.”“It’s not really up for debate, Homer,” I said. “Ladyhawke is an eighties

classic.”“It’sfuckinglame,iswhatitis!Theswordslookliketheyweremadeoutof

tinfoil.Andthatsoundtrackisepicallylame.Fullofsynthesizersandshit.BythemotherfuckingAlanParsonsProject!Lame-o-rama!Beyondlame.HighlanderIIlame.”“Hey!”IfeignedhurlingmyIntellivisioncontrollerathim.“Nowyou’rejust

beinginsulting!Ladyhawke’scastalonemakesthefilmcanon!RoyBatty!FerrisBueller!AndthedudewhoplayedProfessorFalkeninWarGames!” Isearchedmy memory for the actor’s name. “John Wood! Reunited with MatthewBroderick!”

“Areallowpointinbothoftheircareers,”hesaid,laughing.Helovedarguingaboutoldmovies,evenmorethanIdid.Theotherguntersinthechatroomwerenowstartingtoformasmallcrowdaroundustolistenin.Ourargumentswereoftenhighinentertainmentvalue.“You must be stoned!” I shouted. “Ladyhawke was directed by Richard

fuckingDonner!TheGoonies?Superman:TheMovie?You’re saying that guysucks?”“Idon’tcare ifSpielbergdirected it. It’sachick flickdisguisedasasword-

and-sorcerypicture.Theonlygenrefilmwithlessballsisprobably…freakin’Legend.Anyonewho actually enjoysLadyhawke is a bona fideUSDA-choicepussy!”Laughterfromthepeanutgallery.Iwasactuallygettingalittlepissedoffnow.

IwasabigfanofLegendtoo,andAechknewit.“Oh, so I’m a pussy?You’re the onewith theEwok fetish!” I snatched the

StarlogoutofhishandsandthrewitagainstaRevengeoftheJediposteronthewall.“IsupposeyouthinkyourextensiveknowledgeofEwokcultureisgonnahelpyoufindtheegg?”“Don’tstartontheEndoriansagain,man,”hesaid,holdingupanindexfinger.

“I’vewarnedyou.Iwillbanyourass.Iswear.”Iknewthiswasahollowthreat,soIwasabouttopushtheEwokthingevenfurther,maybegivehimsomecrapforreferringtothemas“Endorians.”Butjustthen,anewarrivalmaterializedonthestaircase.AtotallamerbythenameofI-r0k.Iletoutagroan.I-r0kandAechattended the same school and had a few classes together, but I still couldn’tfigure out why Aech had granted him access to the Basement. I-r0k fanciedhimselfanelitegunter,buthewasnothingbutanobnoxiousposeur.Sure,hedida lot of teleporting around theOASIS, completing quests and leveling up hisavatar,buthedidn’tactuallyknowanything.Andhewasalwaysbrandishinganoversizeplasmariflethesizeofasnowmobile.Eveninchatrooms,whereitwastotallypointless.Theguyhadnosenseofdecorum.“AreyoucocksarguingaboutStarWarsagain?”hesaid,descendingthesteps

andwalkingovertojointhecrowdaroundus.“Thatshitissoplayedout,yo.”IturnedtoAech.“Ifyouwanttobansomeone,whydon’tyoustartwiththis

clown?”IhitResetontheIntellivisionandstartedanothergame.“Shut your hole, Penis-ville!” I-r0k replied, using his favorite

mispronunciationofmyavatar’sname.“Hedoesn’tbanme’causeheknowsI’melite!Ain’tthatright,Aech?”“No,”Aechsaid, rollinghiseyes.“Thatain’tright.You’re about as elite as

mygreat-grandmother.Andshe’sdead.”“Screwyou,Aech!Andyourdeadgrandma!”

“Gee,I-r0k,”Imuttered.“Youalwaysmanagetoelevatetheintelligenceleveloftheconversation.Thewholeroomjustlightsupthemomentyouarrive.”“Sosorrytoupsetyou,CaptainNo-Credits,”I-r0ksaid.“Hey,shouldn’tyou

be on Incipio panhandling for change right now?”He reached for the secondIntellivisioncontroller,butIsnatcheditupandtossedittoAech.Hescowledatme.“Prick.”“Poseur.”“Poseur?Penis-villeiscallingmeaposeur?”He turned toaddress thesmall

crowd.“ThischumpissobrokethathehastobumridestoGreyhawk,justsohecankillkoboldsforcopperpieces!Andhe’scallingmeaposeur!”Thiselicitedafewsnickersfromthecrowd,andIfeltmyfaceturnredunder

myvisor.Once,aboutayearago, I’dmade themistakeofhitchinga rideoff-worldwithI-r0ktotrytogainafewexperiencepoints.Afterdroppingmeinalow-levelquestareaonGreyhawk,thejerkhadfollowedme.I’dspentthenextfew hours slaying a small band of kobolds,waiting for them to respawn, andthenslayingthemagain,overandover.Myavatarwasstillonlyfirstlevelatthetime,and itwasoneof theonlysafeways forme to levelup. I-r0khad takenseveral screenshots of my avatar that night and labeled them “Penis-ville theMightyKoboldSlayer.”Thenhe’dpostedthemtotheHatchery.Hestillbroughtitupeverychancehegot.Hewasnevergoingtoletmeliveitdown.“That’sright,Icalledyouaposeur,poseur.”Istoodandgotupinhisgrille.

“You’reanignorantknow-nothingtwink.Justbecauseyou’refourteenth-level,itdoesn’tmakeyouagunter.Youactuallyhavetopossesssomeknowledge.”“Word,”Aechsaid,noddinghisagreement.Webumpedfists.Moresnickering

fromthecrowd,nowdirectedatI-r0k.I-r0kglaredatusamoment.“OK.Let’sseewhotherealposeuris,”hesaid.

“Check thisout, girls.”Grinning,heproducedan item fromhis inventoryandheld it up. It was an old Atari 2600 game, still in the box. He purposefullycovered the game’s title with his hand, but I recognized the cover artworkanyway. Itwasapaintingofayoungmanandwoman inancientGreekattire,bothbrandishingswords.Lurkingbehind themwereaminotaurandabeardedguywithaneyepatch.“Knowwhatthisis,hotshot?”I-r0ksaid,challengingme.“I’llevengiveyouaclue.…It’sanAtarigame,releasedaspartofacontest.Itcontainedseveralpuzzles,andifyousolvedthem,youcouldwinaprize.Soundfamiliar?”I-r0kwasalwaystryingtoimpressuswithsomeclueorpieceofHallidaylore

he foolishlybelievedhe’dbeen the first touncover.Gunters loved toplay thegameofone-upmanshipandwereconstantly tryingtoprovetheyhadacquiredmoreobscureknowledgethaneveryoneelse.ButI-r0ktotallysuckedatit.

“You’re joking, right?” I said. “You just now discovered the Swordquestseries?”I-r0kdeflated.“You’reholdingSwordquest:Earthworld,”Icontinued.“Thefirstgameinthe

Swordquest series.Released in1982.” I smiledwide.“Canyouname thenextthreegamesintheseries?”His eyes narrowed.Hewas, of course, stumped.Like I said, hewas a total

poseur.“Anyoneelse?”Isaid,openingthequestionuptothefloor.Theguntersinthe

crowdeyedeachother,butnoonespokeup.“Fireworld,Waterworld,andAirworld,”Aechanswered.“Bingo!” I said, andwebumped fists again. “AlthoughAirworldwasnever

actually finished, because Atari fell on hard times and canceled the contestbeforeitwascompleted.”I-r0kquietlyputthegameboxbackinhisinventory.“YoushouldjoinupwiththeSux0rz,I-r0k,”Aechsaid,laughing.“Theycould

reallyusesomeonewithyourvaststoresofknowledge.”I-r0k flipped him the bird. “If you two fags already knew about the

Swordquestcontest,howcomeI’veneveronceheardyoumentionit?”“Comeon,I-r0k,”Aechsaid,shakinghishead.“Swordquest:Earthworldwas

Atari’sunofficialsequeltoAdventure.Everygunterworththeirsaltknowsaboutthatcontest.Howmuchmoreobviouscanyouget?”I-r0k tried to save some face. “OK, if you’re both such experts, who

programmedalloftheSwordquestgames?”“DanHitchensandTodFrye,”Irecited.“Tryaskingmesomethingdifficult.”“Igotoneforyou,”Aechinterjected.“WhatweretheprizesAtarigaveoutto

thewinnerofeachcontest?”“Ah,” I said. “Good one. Let’s see.…The prize for the Earthworld contest

was the Talisman of Penultimate Truth. It was solid gold and encrusted withdiamonds.Thekidwhowonitmelteditdowntopayforcollege,asIrecall.”“Yeah,yeah,”Aechprodded.“Quitstalling.Whatabouttheothertwo?”“I’m not stalling. The Fireworld prize was the Chalice of Light, and the

Waterworld prize was supposed to be the Crown of Life, but it was neverawarded, due to the cancellation of the contest. Same goes for the Airworldprize,whichwassupposedtobeaPhilosopher’sStone.”Aechgrinnedandgavemeadoublehighfive,thenadded,“Andifthecontest

hadn’tbeencanceled,thewinnersofthefirstfourroundswouldhavecompetedforthegrandprize,theSwordofUltimateSorcery.”Inodded.“TheprizeswereallmentionedintheSwordquestcomicbooksthat

camewith thegames.Comicbookswhichhappen tobevisible in the treasureroominthefinalsceneofAnorak’sInvitation,bytheway.”Thecrowdburstintoapplause.I-r0kloweredhisheadinshame.SinceI’dbecomeagunter,ithadbeenobvioustomethatHallidayhaddrawn

inspiration for his contest from the Swordquest contest. I had no idea if he’dborrowedanyofthepuzzlesfromthemtoo,butI’dstudiedthegamesandtheirsolutionsthoroughly,justtobesafe.“Fine.Youwin,”I-r0ksaid.“Butyoubothobviouslyneedtogetalife.”“Andyou,”Isaid,“obviouslyneedtofindanewhobby.Becauseyouclearly

lacktheintelligenceandcommitmenttobeagunter.”“Nodoubt,”Aechsaid.“Trydoingsomeresearchforachange,I-r0k.Imean,

didyoueverhearofWikipedia?It’sfree,douchebag.”I-r0kturnedandwalkedovertothelongboxesofcomicbooksstackedonthe

othersideoftheroom,asifhe’dlostinterestinthediscussion.“Whatever,”hesaidoverhisshoulder.“IfIdidn’tspendsomuchtimeoffline,gettinglaid, I’dprobablyknowjustasmuchworthlessshitasyoutwodo.”Aechignoredhimandturnedbacktome.“Whatwerethenamesofthetwins

whoappearedintheSwordquestcomicbooks?”“TarraandTorr.”“Damn,Z!Youaretheman.”“Thanks,Aech.”Amessageflashedonmydisplay,informingmethatthethree-minute-warning

bellhadjustrunginmyclassroom.IknewAechandI-r0kwereseeingthesamewarning,becauseourschoolsoperatedonthesameschedule.“Timeforanotherdayofhigherlearning,”Aechsaid,standingup.“Drag,” I-r0k said. “See you losers later.” He gaveme the finger; then his

avatardisappearedasheloggedoutofthechatroom.Theotherguntersbegantologoutandvanishtoo,untilonlyAechandIremained.“Seriously,Aech,”Isaid.“Whydoyouletthatmoronhangouthere?”“Becausehe’sfuntobeatatvideogames.Andhisignorancegivesmehope.”“Howso?”“BecauseifmostoftheotherguntersoutthereareascluelessasI-r0k—and

theyare,Z,believeme—thatmeansyouandIreallydohaveashotatwinningthecontest.”Ishrugged.“Iguessthat’sonewaytolookatit.”“Wannahangafterschoolagaintonight?Aroundsevenorso?I’vegotafew

errandstorun,butthenI’mgonnatacklesomeofthestuffonmyneed-to-watchlist.ASpacedmarathon,perhaps?”“Oh,hellyes,”Isaid.“Countmein.”

Weloggedoutsimultaneously,justasthefinalbellbegantoring.

Myavatar’seyesslidopen,andIwasbackinmyWorldHistoryclassroom.Theseatsaroundmewerenowfilledwithotherstudents,andour teacher,Mr.Avenovich,wasmaterializingatthefrontoftheclassroom.Mr.A’savatarlookedlike a portly, bearded college professor. He sported an infectious grin, wire-rimmed spectacles, and a tweed jacket with patches on the elbows.When hespoke, he somehow alwaysmanaged to sound like he was reading a passagefromDickens.Ilikedhim.Hewasagoodteacher.Ofcourse,wedidn’tknowwhoMr.Avenovichreallywasorwherehelived.

We didn’t know his real name, or even if “he”was really aman. For all weknew,hecouldhavebeenasmallInuitwomanlivinginAnchorage,Alaska,whohadadopted thisappearanceandvoice tomakeher studentsmore receptive toherlessons.Butforsomereason,IsuspectedthatMr.Avenovich’savatarlookedandsoundedjustlikethepersonoperatingit.All of my teachers were pretty great. Unlike their real-world counterparts,

mostoftheOASISpublicschoolteachersseemedtogenuinelyenjoytheirjob,probablybecausetheydidn’thavetospendhalftheirtimeactingasbabysittersanddisciplinarians.TheOASISsoftwaretookcareofthat,ensuringthatstudentsremainedquietandintheirseats.Alltheteachershadtodowasteach.It was also a lot easier for online teachers to hold their students’ attention,

becausehereintheOASIS,theclassroomswerelikeholodecks.Teacherscouldtake their students on a virtual field trip every day, without ever leaving theschoolgrounds.During ourWorldHistory lesson thatmorning,Mr.Avenovich loaded up a

stand-alone simulation so that our class could witness the discovery of KingTut’stombbyarchaeologistsinEgyptinAD1922.(Thedaybefore,we’dvisitedthesamespotin1334BCandhadseenTutankhamen’sempireinallitsglory.)Inmynextclass,Biology,wetraveledthroughahumanheartandwatchedit

pumpingfromtheinside,justlikeinthatoldmovieFantasticVoyage.InArtclasswetouredtheLouvrewhileallofouravatarsworesillyberets.

InmyAstronomyclasswevisitedeachofJupiter’smoons.WestoodonthevolcanicsurfaceofIowhileourteacherexplainedhowthemoonhadoriginallyformed.Asour teacherspoke tous, Jupiter loomedbehindher, fillinghalf thesky, itsGreat Red Spot churning slowly just over her left shoulder. Then shesnappedherfingersandwewerestandingonEuropa,discussingthepossibilityofextraterrestriallifebeneaththemoon’sicycrust.Ispentmylunchperiodsittinginoneofthegreenfieldsborderingtheschool,

staringatthesimulatedscenerywhileImunchedonaproteinbarwithmyvisoron.Itbeatstaringattheinsideofmyhideout.Iwasasenior,soIwasallowedtogo off-world during lunch if Iwanted to, but I didn’t have that kind of sparedoughtoblow.LoggingintotheOASISwasfree,buttravelingaroundinsideitwasn’t.Most

of the time, I didn’t have enough credits to teleport off-world andget back toLudus.Whenthelastbellrangeachday,thestudentswhohadthingstodointherealworldwould logoutof theOASISandvanish.Everyoneelsewouldheadoff-world.Alotofkidsownedtheirowninterplanetaryvehicles.Schoolparkinglots all over Ludus were filled with UFOs, TIE fighters, old NASA spaceshuttles, Vipers fromBattlestarGalactica, and other spacecraft designs liftedfromeverysci-fimovieandTVshowyoucanthinkof.EveryafternoonIwouldstandon the school’s front lawnandwatchwith envyas these ships filled thesky,zoomingofftoexplorethesimulation’sendlesspossibilities.Thekidswhodidn’t own ships would either hitch a ride with a friend or stampede to thenearesttransportterminal,headedforsomeoffworlddanceclub,gamingarena,orrockconcert.Butnotme.Iwasn’tgoinganywhere.IwasstrandedonLudus,themostboringplanetintheentireOASIS.TheOntologicallyAnthropocentricSensoryImmersiveSimulationwasabig

place.When theOASIS had first been launched, it contained only a few hundred

planetsforusers toexplore,allcreatedbyGSSprogrammersandartists.Theirenvironments ran the gamut, from sword-and-sorcery settings to cyberpunk-themed planetwide cities to irradiated postapocalyptic zombie-infestedwastelands. Some planets were designed with painstaking detail. Others wererandomlygeneratedfromaseriesoftemplates.Eachonewaspopulatedwithavariety of artificially intelligent NPCs (nonplayer characters)—computer-controlledhumans,animals,monsters, aliens, andandroidswithwhichOASISuserscouldinteract.GSS had also licensed preexisting virtualworlds from their competitors, so

content that had already been created for games like Everquest andWorld ofWarcraftwasportedovertotheOASIS,andcopiesofNorrathandAzerothwere

added to the growing catalog of OASIS planets. Other virtual worlds soonfollowed suit, from the Metaverse to the Matrix. The Firefly universe wasanchoredinasectoradjacenttotheStarWarsgalaxy,withadetailedre-creationoftheStarTrekuniverseinthesectoradjacenttothat.Userscouldnowteleportback and forth between their favorite fictional worlds.Middle Earth. Vulcan.Pern. Arrakis. Magrathea. Discworld, Mid-World, Riverworld, Ringworld.Worldsuponworlds.For thesakeofzoningandnavigation, theOASIShadbeendividedequally

intotwenty-sevencube-shaped“sectors,”eachcontaininghundredsofdifferentplanets. (The three-dimensional map of all twenty-seven sectors distinctlyresembledan’80spuzzletoycalledaRubik’sCube.Likemostgunters,Iknewthiswasnocoincidence.)Eachsectormeasuredexactlytenlight-hoursacross,orabout10.8billionkilometers.Soifyouweretravelingatthespeedoflight(thefastestspeedattainablebyanyspacecraftinsidetheOASIS),youcouldgetfromonesideofasectortotheotherinexactlytenhours.Thatsortoflong-distancetravelwasn’t cheap. Spacecraft that could travel at light speedwere rare, andthey required fuel to operate. Charging people for virtual fuel to power theirvirtual spaceships was one of the ways Gregarious Simulation Systemsgenerated revenue, since accessing the OASIS was free. But GSS’s primarysource of income came from teleportation fares. Teleportation was the fastestwaytotravel,butitwasalsothemostexpensive.TravelingaroundinsidetheOASISwasn’tjustcostly—itwasalsodangerous.

Each sector was divided up intomany different zones that varied in size andshape.Somezoneswereso large that theyencompassedseveralplanets,whileotherscoveredonlyafewkilometersonthesurfaceofasingleworld.Eachzonehad a unique combination of rules and parameters. Magic would function insomezonesandnotinothers.Thesamewastrueoftechnology.Ifyouflewyourtechnology-based starship into a zone where technology didn’t function, yourengineswouldfailthemomentyoucrossedthezoneborder.Thenyou’dhavetohire somesillygray-bearded sorcererwitha spell-powered spacebarge to towyourassbackintoatechnologyzone.Dual zonespermitted theuseofbothmagic and technology, andnull zones

didn’t allow either. There were pacifist zones where no player-versus-playercombatwasallowed,andplayer-versus-playerzoneswhere itwaseveryavatarforthemselves.Youhadtobecarefulwheneveryouenteredanewzoneorsector.Youhadto

beprepared.ButlikeIsaid,Ididn’thavethatproblem.Iwasstuckatschool.Ludushadbeendesignedasaplaceoflearning,sotheplanethadbeencreated

withoutasinglequestportalorgamingzoneanywhereonitssurface.Theonlythingtobefoundherewerethousandsofidenticalschoolcampusesseparatedbyrollinggreenfields,perfectlylandscapedparks,rivers,meadows,andsprawlingtemplate-generated forests.Therewere no castles, dungeons, or orbiting spacefortresses formyavatar to raid.And therewerenoNPCvillains,monsters,oraliensformetofight,sotherewasnotreasureormagicitemsformetoplunder.Thistotallysucked,foralotofreasons.Completingquests,fightingNPCs,andgatheringtreasureweretheonlyways

a low-level avatar likemine could earn experience points (XPs).EarningXPswashowyouincreasedyouravatar’spowerlevel,strength,andabilities.A lot ofOASISusers didn’t care about their avatar’s power level or bother

withthegamingaspectsofthesimulationatall.TheyonlyusedtheOASISforentertainment, business, shopping, and hanging out with their friends. TheseuserssimplyavoidedenteringanygamingorPvPzoneswheretheirdefenselessfirst-levelavatarscouldbeattackedbyNPCsorbyotherplayers.Ifyoustayedin safe zones, like Ludus, you didn’t have toworry about your avatar gettingrobbed,kidnapped,orkilled.Ihatedbeingstuckinasafezone.If I was going to find Halliday’s egg, I knew I would eventually have to

ventureoutinthedangeroussectorsoftheOASIS.AndifIwasn’tpowerfulorwell-armedenoughtodefendmyself,Iwasn’tgoingtostayaliveforverylong.Overthepastfiveyears,I’dmanagedtoslowly,graduallyraisemyavatarup

tothirdlevel.Thishadn’tbeeneasy.I’ddoneitbyhitchingridesoff-worldwithotherstudents(mostlyAech)whohappenedtobeheadedtoaplanetwheremywussavatarcouldsurvive. I’dhave themdropmenearanewbie-levelgamingzoneandspendtherestofthenightorweekendslayingorcs,kobolds,orsomeotherpiddlyclassofmonster thatwas tooweak tokillme.ForeachNPCmyavatar defeated, I would earn a fewmeager experience points and, usually, ahandful of copper or silver coins droppedbymy slain foes.These coinswereinstantlyconvertedtocredits,whichIusedtopaytheteleportationfarebacktoLudus,oftenjustbeforethefinalschoolbellrang.Sometimes,butnotoften,oneoftheNPCsIkilledwoulddropanitem.ThatwashowI’dobtainedmyavatar’ssword,shield,andarmor.I’d stoppedhitching rideswithAechat theendof theprevious schoolyear.

Hisavatarwasnowabovethirtiethlevel,andsohewasalmostalwaysheadedtoaplanetwhereitwasn’tsafeformyavatar.Hewashappytodropmeonsomenoobworldalongtheway,butifIdidn’tearnenoughcreditstopayformyfareback toLudus, I’dwindupmissingschoolbecauseIwasstuckonsomeotherplanet. This was not an acceptable excuse. I’d now racked up so many

unexcusedabsences that Iwas indangerofbeingexpelled. If thathappened, Iwouldhavetoreturnmyschool-issuedOASISconsoleandvisor.Worse,I’dbetransferredbacktoschoolintherealworldtofinishoutmysenioryearthere.Icouldn’triskthat.So thesedays I rarely leftLudus at all. Iwas stuckhere, and stuck at third

level. Having a third-level avatar was a colossal embarrassment. None of theother gunters took you seriously unless you were at least tenth level. EventhoughI’dbeenaguntersincedayone,everyonestillconsideredmeanoob.Itwasbeyondfrustrating.Indesperation,I’dtriedtofindapart-timeafter-schooljob,justtoearnsome

walking-aroundmoney. I applied fordozensof tech support andprogrammingjobs (mostlygrunt constructionwork, codingparts ofOASISmalls andofficebuildings),but itwascompletelyhopeless.Millionsofcollege-educatedadultscouldn’tgetoneof thosejobs.TheGreatRecessionwasnowenteringits thirddecade,andunemploymentwasstillatarecordhigh.Eventhefast-foodjointsinmyneighborhoodhadatwo-yearwaitinglistforjobapplicants.SoIremainedstuckatschool.Ifeltlikeakidstandingintheworld’sgreatest

videoarcadewithoutanyquarters,unable todoanythingbutwalkaroundandwatchtheotherkidsplay.

After lunch, Iheaded tomy favorite class,AdvancedOASIS Studies.Thiswasasenior-yearelectivewhereyoulearnedaboutthehistoryoftheOASISanditscreators.TalkaboutaneasyA.Forthepastfiveyears,I’ddevotedallofmyfreetimetolearningasmuchasI

possibly could about James Halliday. I’d exhaustively studied his life,accomplishments,andinterests.OveradozendifferentHallidaybiographieshadbeen published in the years since his death, and I’d read them all. Severaldocumentaryfilmshadalsobeenmadeabouthim,andI’dstudiedthose,too.I’dstudiedeverywordHallidayhadeverwritten,andI’dplayedeveryvideogamehe’d ever made. I took notes, writing down every detail I thought might berelatedtotheHunt.Ikepteverythinginanotebook(whichI’dstartedtocallmy“graildiary”afterwatchingthethirdIndianaJonesfilm).ThemoreI’dlearnedaboutHalliday’slife,themoreI’dgrowntoidolizehim.

Hewasagodamonggeeks,anerdüber-deityon the levelofGygax,Garriott,andGates.He’d left homeafter high schoolwithnothingbuthiswits andhisimagination, and he’d used them to attain worldwide fame and amass a vastfortune.He’d created an entirely new reality that now provided an escape formostofhumanity.And to top italloff,he’d turnedhis lastwilland testamentintothegreatestvideogamecontestofalltime.I spent most of my time in Advanced OASIS Studies class annoying our

teacher,Mr.Ciders,bypointingouterrorsinourtextbookandraisingmyhandtointerjectsomerelevantbitofHallidaytriviathatI(andIalone)thoughtwasinteresting.Afterthefirstfewweeksofclass,Mr.Cidershadstoppedcallingonmeunlessnooneelseknewtheanswertohisquestion.Today, he was reading excerpts from The EggMan, a bestselling Halliday

biographythat I’dalreadyreadfour times.Duringhis lecture, Ikepthaving toresisttheurgetointerrupthimandpointoutallofthereallyimportantdetailsthebook leftout. Instead, I justmadeamentalnoteofeachomission, andasMr.CidersbegantorecountthecircumstancesofHalliday’schildhood,Ionceagain

triedtogleanwhateversecretsIcouldfromthestrangewayHallidayhadlivedhislife,andfromtheoddcluesabouthimselfhe’dchosentoleavebehind.

JamesDonovanHallidaywasbornonJune12,1972,inMiddletown,Ohio.Hewasanonlychild.Hisfatherwasanalcoholicmachineoperatorandhismotherwasabipolarwaitress.By all accounts, James was a bright boy, but socially inept. He had an

extremelydifficulttimecommunicatingwiththepeoplearoundhim.Despitehisobviousintelligence,hedidpoorlyinschool,becausemostofhisattentionwasfocused on computers, comic books, sci-fi and fantasy novels, movies, andaboveallelse,videogames.Oneday in juniorhigh,Hallidaywassittingalone in thecafeteria readinga

Dungeons&DragonsPlayer’sHandbook. The game fascinated him, but he’dneveractuallyplayed it,becausehe’dneverhadany friends toplay itwith.AboyinhisclassnamedOgdenMorrownoticedwhatHallidaywasreadingandinvitedhimtoattendoneoftheweeklyD&Dgamingsessionsheldathishouse.There, inMorrow’s basement, Halliday was introduced to an entire group of“megageeks”justlikehimself.Theyimmediatelyacceptedhimasoneoftheirown,andforthefirsttimeinhislife,JamesHallidayhadacircleoffriends.OgdenMorrow eventually becameHalliday’s business partner, collaborator,

andbestfriend.ManywouldlaterlikenthepairingofMorrowandHallidaytothat of Jobs and Wozniak or Lennon and McCartney. It was a partnershipdestinedtoalterthecourseofhumanhistory.At age fifteen, Halliday created his first videogame, Anorak’s Quest. He

programmed it in BASIC on a TRS-80 Color Computer he’d received theprevious Christmas (though he’d asked his parents for the slightly moreexpensive Commodore 64). Anorak’s Quest was an adventure game set inChthonia,thefantasyworldHallidayhadcreatedforhishigh-schoolDungeons&Dragonscampaign.“Anorak”wasanicknameHallidayhadbeengivenbyafemaleBritishexchangestudentathishighschool.HelikedthenameAnoraksomuchthathe’duseditforhisfavoriteD&Dcharacter,thepowerfulwizardwholaterappearedinmanyofhisvideogames.HallidaycreatedAnorak’sQuestforfun, tosharewith theguysinhisD&D

gaming group. They all found the game addictive, and lost countless hoursattempting to solve its intricate riddlesandpuzzles.OgdenMorrowconvincedHalliday that Anorak’s Quest was better than most of the computer gamescurrentlyonthemarket,andencouragedhimtotrysellingit.HehelpedHallidaycreate somesimplecoverartwork for thegame,and together, the twoof them

hand-copied Anorak’s Quest onto dozens of 5¼-inch floppy disks and stuckthem into Ziploc bags along with a single photocopied sheet of instructions.Theybegansellingthegameonthesoftwarerackattheirlocalcomputerstore.Beforelong,theycouldn’tmakecopiesfastenoughtomeetthedemand.Morrow and Halliday decided to start their own videogame company,

GregariousGames,whichinitiallyoperatedoutofMorrow’sbasement.HallidayprogrammednewversionsofAnorak’sQuestfortheAtari800XL,AppleII,andCommodore64computers,andMorrowbeganplacingadsfor thegamein thebackofseveralcomputermagazines.Withinsixmonths,Anorak’sQuestbecameanationalbestseller.HallidayandMorrowalmostdidn’tgraduate fromhighschoolbecause they

spentmost of their senior yearworking onAnorak’sQuest II.And instead ofgoingofftocollege,theybothfocusedalloftheirenergyontheirnewcompany,which had now grown too large forMorrow’s basement. In 1990,GregariousGames moved into its first real office, located in a run-down strip mall inColumbus,Ohio.Over the next decade, the small company took the videogame industry by

storm, releasingaseriesofbestsellingactionandadventuregames,allusingagroundbreaking first-person graphics engine created by Halliday. GregariousGamessetanewstandardforimmersivegaming,andeverytimetheyreleasedanew title, it pushed the envelope of what seemed possible on the computerhardwareavailableatthetime.The rotundOgdenMorrowwasnaturallycharismatic, andhehandledallof

thecompany’sbusinessaffairsandpublicrelations.AteveryGregariousGamespressconference,Morrowgrinnedinfectiouslyfrombehindhisunrulybeardandwire-rimmedspectacles,usinghisnaturalgiftforhypeandhyperbole.Hallidayseemed to beMorrow’s polar opposite in every way. Hewas tall, gaunt, andpainfullyshy,andhepreferredtostayoutofthelimelight.People employedbyGregariousGamesduring thisperiod say thatHalliday

frequentlylockedhimselfinhisoffice,whereheprogrammedincessantly,oftengoingwithoutfood,sleep,orhumancontactfordaysorevenweeks.OnthefewoccasionsthatHallidayagreedtodointerviews,hisbehaviorcame

offasbizarre,evenbygame-designerstandards.Hewashyperkinetic,aloof,andsosocially inept that the interviewersoftencameawaywith the impressionhewasmentallyill.Hallidaytendedtospeaksorapidlythathiswordswereoftenunintelligible, andhehadadisturbinghigh-pitched laugh,madeevenmore sobecause hewas usually the only onewho knewwhat hewas laughingabout.When Halliday got bored during an interview (or conversation), he wouldusuallygetupandwalkoutwithoutsayingaword.

Halliday hadmanywell-known obsessions.Chief among themwere classicvideogames,sci-fiandfantasynovels,andmoviesofallgenres.Healsohadanextreme fixation on the 1980s, the decade duringwhich he’d been a teenager.Hallidayseemedtoexpecteveryonearoundhimtosharehisobsessions,andheoftenlashedoutatthosewhodidn’t.Hewasknowntofirelongtimeemployeesfor not recognizing an obscure line of movie dialogue he quoted, or if hediscoveredtheyweren’tfamiliarwithoneofhisfavoritecartoons,comicbooks,orvideogames.(OgdenMorrowwouldalwayshiretheemployeeback,usuallywithoutHallidayevernoticing.)As the years went on, Halliday’s already-stunted social skills seemed to

deteriorateevenfurther.(SeveralexhaustivepsychologicalstudiesweredoneonHalliday following his death, and his obsessive adherence to routine andpreoccupationwith a few obscure areas of interest ledmany psychologists toconclude thatHalliday had suffered fromAsperger’s syndrome, or from someotherformofhigh-functioningautism.)Despite his eccentricities, no one ever questioned Halliday’s genius. The

gameshecreatedwereaddictiveandwildlypopular.Bytheendofthetwentiethcentury,Hallidaywaswidelyrecognizedasthegreatestvideogamedesignerofhisgeneration—and,somewouldargue,ofalltime.OgdenMorrowwasabrilliantprogrammerinhisownright,buthistruetalent

washisknackforbusiness.Inadditiontocollaboratingonthecompany’sgames,he masterminded all of their early marketing campaigns and sharewaredistribution schemes,with astounding results.WhenGregariousGames finallywentpublic,theirstockimmediatelyshotintothestratosphere.Bytheirthirtiethbirthdays,HallidayandMorrowwerebothmultimillionaires.

They purchasedmansions on the same street.Morrow bought a Lamborghini,took several long vacations, and traveled the world. Halliday bought andrestored one of the original DeLoreans used in theBack to the Future films,continued to spendnearly all of his timewelded to a computer keyboard, andusedhisnewfoundwealthtoamasswhatwouldeventuallybecometheworld’slargestprivatecollectionofclassicvideogames,StarWarsactionfigures,vintagelunchboxes,andcomicbooks.At the height of its success, Gregarious Games appeared to fall dormant.

Severalyearselapsedduringwhichtheyreleasednonewgames.Morrowmadecryptic announcements, saying the company was working on an ambitiousproject that wouldmove them in an entirely new direction. Rumors began tocirculate that Gregarious Games was developing some sort of new computergaming hardware and that this secret project was rapidly exhausting thecompany’s considerable financial resources. There were also indications that

bothHallidayandMorrowhadinvestedmostoftheirownpersonalfortunesinthecompany’snewendeavor.WordbegantospreadthatGregariousGameswasindangerofgoingbankrupt.Then, inDecember 2012,GregariousGames rebranded itself asGregarious

Simulation Systems, and under this new banner they launched their flagshipproduct, the only product GSS would ever release: the OASIS—theOntologicallyAnthropocentricSensoryImmersiveSimulation.TheOASISwouldultimatelychangethewaypeoplearoundtheworldlived,

worked, and communicated. It would transform entertainment, socialnetworking,andevenglobalpolitics.Eventhoughitwasinitiallymarketedasanewkindofmassivelymultiplayeronlinegame,theOASISquicklyevolvedintoanewwayoflife.

In the days before the OASIS, massively multiplayer online games (MMOs)wereamongthefirstsharedsyntheticenvironments.Theyallowedthousandsofplayers to simultaneously coexist inside a simulated world, which theyconnected to via the Internet. The overall size of these environments wasrelatively small, usually just a single world, or a dozen or so small planets.MMOplayers could only see these online environments through a small two-dimensional window—their desktop computer monitor—and they could onlyinteractwithitbyusingkeyboards,mice,andothercrudeinputdevices.GregariousSimulationSystemselevatedtheMMOconcepttoanentirelynew

level.TheOASISdidn’tlimititsuserstojustoneplanet,orevenadozen.TheOASIS contained hundreds (and eventually thousands) of high-resolution 3-Dworlds for people to explore, and each one was beautifully rendered inmeticulous graphical detail, right down to bugs andblades of grass,wind andweatherpatterns.Userscouldcircumnavigateeachoftheseplanetsandneverseethe same terrain twice.Even in its first primitive incarnation, the scopeof thesimulationwasstaggering.Halliday andMorrow referred to the OASIS as an “open-source reality,” a

malleableonlineuniversethatanyonecouldaccessvia theInternet,usingtheirexistinghomecomputerorvideogameconsole.Youcould log inand instantlyescape thedrudgeryof your day-to-day life.You could create an entirely newpersonaforyourself,withcompletecontroloverhowyoulookedandsoundedtoothers. In the OASIS, the fat could become thin, the ugly could becomebeautiful,andtheshy,extroverted.Orviceversa.Youcouldchangeyourname,age,sex,race,height,weight,voice,haircolor,andbonestructure.Oryoucouldcease being human altogether, and become an elf, ogre, alien, or any other

creaturefromliterature,movies,ormythology.IntheOASIS,youcouldbecomewhomeverandwhateveryouwantedtobe,

without ever revealing your true identity, because your anonymity wasguaranteed.Userscouldalsoalter thecontentof thevirtualworlds insidetheOASIS,or

createentirelynewones.Aperson’sonlinepresencewasnolongerlimitedtoawebsiteorasocial-networkingprofile.IntheOASIS,youcouldcreateyourownprivateplanet,buildavirtualmansiononit,furnishanddecorateithoweveryouliked,andinviteafewthousandfriendsoverforaparty.Andthosefriendscouldbeinadozendifferenttimezones,spreadallovertheglobe.Thekeys to thesuccessof theOASISwere the twonewpiecesof interface

hardware that GSS had created, both of which were required to access thesimulation:theOASISvisorandhapticgloves.Thewirelessone-size-fits-allOASISvisorwas slightly larger thanapairof

sunglasses. It used harmless low-powered lasers to draw the stunningly realenvironmentoftheOASISrightontoitswearer’sretinas,completelyimmersingtheirentirefieldofvisionintheonlineworld.Thevisorwaslight-yearsaheadoftheclunkyvirtual-realitygogglesavailablepriortothattime,anditrepresentedaparadigm shift in virtual-reality technology—as did the lightweight OASIShapticgloves,whichallowedusers todirectlycontrol thehandsof theiravatarandtointeractwiththeirsimulatedenvironmentasiftheywereactuallyinsideit.When you picked up objects, opened doors, or operated vehicles, the hapticgloves made you feel these nonexistent objects and surfaces as if they werereallyrightthereinfrontofyou.Theglovesletyou,asthetelevisionadsputit,“reach in and touch the OASIS.”Working together, the visor and the glovesmadeenteringtheOASISanexperienceunlikeanythingelseavailable,andoncepeoplegotatasteofit,therewasnogoingback.The software that powered the simulation, Halliday’s new OASIS Reality

Engine, also represented a huge technological breakthrough. It managed toovercomelimitationsthathadplaguedprevioussimulatedrealities.Inadditiontorestrictingtheoverallsizeoftheirvirtualenvironments,earlierMMOshadbeenforced to limit their virtual populations, usually to a few thousand users perserver.Iftoomanypeoplewereloggedinatthesametime,thesimulationwouldslowtoacrawlandavatarswouldfreezeinmidstrideasthesystemstruggledtokeepup.But theOASISutilized anewkindof fault-tolerant server array thatcoulddrawadditionalprocessingpowerfromeverycomputerconnectedtoit.Atthe time of its initial launch, the OASIS could handle up to five millionsimultaneoususers,withnodiscerniblelatencyandnochanceofasystemcrash.A massive marketing campaign promoted the launch of the OASIS. The

pervasive television, billboard, and Internet ads featured a lush green oasis,complete with palm trees and a pool of crystal blue water, surrounded on allsidesbyavastbarrendesert.GSS’snewendeavorwasamassive success fromdayone.TheOASISwas

what people had been dreaming of for decades.The “virtual reality” they hadbeenpromisedforso longwasfinallyhere,and itwasevenbetter than they’dimagined.TheOASISwasanonlineutopia, aholodeck for thehome.And itsbiggestsellingpoint?Itwasfree.Mostonlinegamesofthedaygeneratedrevenuebychargingusersamonthly

subscriptionfeeforaccess.GSSonlychargedaonetimesign-upfeeof twenty-fivecents,forwhichyoureceivedalifetimeOASISaccount.Theadsallusedthesametagline:TheOASIS—it’s thegreatestvideogameevercreated,and itonlycostsaquarter.At a timeof drastic social and cultural upheaval,whenmost of theworld’s

populationlongedforanescapefromreality, theOASISprovidedit, inaformthat was cheap, legal, safe, and not (medically proven to be) addictive. Theongoing energy crisis contributed greatly to the OASIS’s runaway popularity.The skyrocketingcostofoilmadeairline andautomobile travel tooexpensivefor the average citizen, and theOASISbecame the only getawaymost peoplecouldafford.Astheeraofcheap,abundantenergydrewtoaclose,povertyandunrestbegantospreadlikeavirus.Everyday,moreandmorepeoplehadreasontoseeksolaceinsideHallidayandMorrow’svirtualutopia.Any business that wanted to set up shop inside the OASIS had to rent or

purchasevirtualrealestate(whichMorrowdubbed“surrealestate”)fromGSS.Anticipating this, the company had set aside Sector One as the simulation’sdesignatedbusinesszoneandbegantosellandrentmillionsofblocksofsurrealestatethere.City-sizedshoppingmallswereerectedintheblinkofaneye,andstorefronts spread acrossplanets like time-lapse footageofmolddevouring anorange.Urbandevelopmenthadneverbeensoeasy.InadditiontothebillionsofdollarsthatGSSrakedinsellinglandthatdidn’t

actually exist, they made a killing selling virtual objects and vehicles. TheOASIS became such an integral part of people’s day-to-day social lives thatusersweremorethanwillingtoshelloutrealmoneytobuyaccessoriesfortheiravatars:clothing,furniture,houses,flyingcars,magicswordsandmachineguns.TheseitemswerenothingbutonesandzerosstoredontheOASISservers,buttheywerealsostatussymbols.Mostitemsonlycostafewcredits,butsincetheycostnothingforGSStomanufacture,itwasallprofit.Eveninthethroesofanongoing economic recession, the OASIS allowed Americans to continueengagingintheirfavoritepastime:shopping.

TheOASISquicklybecame the singlemostpopularuse for the Internet, somuchsothattheterms“OASIS”and“Internet”graduallybecamesynonymous.And the incrediblyeasy-to-use three-dimensionalOASISOS,whichGSSgaveawayforfree,becamethesinglemostpopularcomputeroperatingsystemintheworld.Beforelong,billionsofpeoplearoundtheworldwereworkingandplayingin

theOASISeveryday.Someofthemmet,fell inlove,andgotmarriedwithoutever setting foot on the same continent. The lines of distinction between aperson’srealidentityandthatoftheiravatarbegantoblur.Itwasthedawnofnewera,onewheremostofthehumanracenowspentall

oftheirfreetimeinsideavideogame.

Therestofmyschooldaypassedquicklyuntilmyfinalclass,Latin.Most students took a foreign language they might actually be able to use

someday,likeMandarin,orHindi,orSpanish.I’ddecidedtotakeLatinbecauseJamesHalliday had takenLatin.He’d also occasionally usedLatinwords andphrases in his early adventure games. Unfortunately, even with the limitlesspossibilitiesoftheOASISatherdisposal,myLatinteacher,Ms.Rank,stillhadahardtimemakingherlessonsinteresting.Andtodayshewasreviewingabunchof verbs I’d already memorized, so I found my attention drifting almostimmediately.Whileaclasswasinsession,thesimulationpreventedstudentsfromaccessing

any data or programs thatweren’t authorized by their teacher, to prevent kidsfromwatchingmovies, playing games, or chatting with each other instead ofpayingattentiontothelesson.Luckily,duringmyjunioryear,I’ddiscoveredabugin theschool’sonlinelibrarysoftware,andbyexploitingit, Icouldaccessany book in the school’s online library, including Anorak’s Almanac. Sowhenever I got bored (like right now) Iwould pull it up in awindow onmydisplayandreadovermyfavoritepassagestopassthetime.Overthepastfiveyears,theAlmanachadbecomemybible.Likemostbooks

nowadays,itwasonlyavailableinelectronicformat.ButI’dwantedtobeabletoreadtheAlmanacnightorday,evenduringoneofthestacks’frequentpoweroutages,soI’dfixedupanolddiscardedlaserprinterandusedittoprintoutahard copy. I put it in an old three-ring binder that I kept inmybackpack andstudieduntilIkneweverywordbyheart.TheAlmanaccontainedthousandsofreferencestoHalliday’sfavoritebooks,

TVshows,movies,songs,graphicnovels,andvideogames.Mostoftheseitemswere over forty years old, and so free digital copies of them could bedownloaded from the OASIS. If there was something I needed that wasn’tlegallyavailableforfree,IcouldalmostalwaysgetitbyusingGuntorrent,afile-sharingprogramusedbyguntersaroundtheworld.

Whenitcametomyresearch,Inevertookanyshortcuts.Overthepastfiveyears, I’d workedmy way down the entire recommended gunter reading list.DouglasAdams.KurtVonnegut.NealStephenson.RichardK.Morgan.StephenKing. Orson Scott Card. Terry Pratchett. Terry Brooks. Bester, Bradbury,Haldeman, Heinlein, Tolkien, Vance, Gibson, Gaiman, Sterling, Moorcock,Scalzi, Zelazny. I read every novel by every single one ofHalliday’s favoriteauthors.AndIdidn’tstopthere.IalsowatchedeverysinglefilmhereferencedintheAlmanac.Ifitwasoneof

Halliday’s favorites, like WarGames, Ghostbusters, Real Genius, Better OffDead,orRevengeoftheNerds,IrewatchedituntilIkneweveryscenebyheart.I devoured each ofwhatHalliday referred to as “TheHolyTrilogies”:Star

Wars (original and prequel trilogies, in that order), Lord of the Rings, TheMatrix,MadMax,Back to theFuture,and IndianaJones. (Halliday once saidthathepreferredtopretendtheotherIndianaJonesfilms,fromKingdomoftheCrystalSkullonward,didn’texist.Itendedtoagree.)Ialsoabsorbed thecomplete filmographiesofeachofhis favoritedirectors.

Cameron, Gilliam, Jackson, Fincher, Kubrick, Lucas, Spielberg, Del Toro,Tarantino.And,ofcourse,KevinSmith.IspentthreemonthsstudyingeveryJohnHughesteenmovieandmemorizing

allthekeylinesofdialogue.Onlythemeekgetpinched.Theboldsurvive.YoucouldsayIcoveredallthebases.IstudiedMontyPython.AndnotjustHolyGrail,either.Everysingleoneof

their films, albums, and books, and every episode of the originalBBC series.(Includingthosetwo“lost”episodestheydidforGermantelevision.)Iwasn’tgoingtocutanycorners.Iwasn’tgoingtomisssomethingobvious.Somewherealongtheway,Istartedtogooverboard.Imay,infact,havestartedtogoalittleinsane.I watched every episode of The Greatest American Hero, Airwolf, The A-

Team,KnightRider,MisfitsofScience,andTheMuppetShow.WhataboutTheSimpsons,youask?IknewmoreaboutSpringfieldthanIknewaboutmyowncity.Star Trek? Oh, I did my homework. TOS, TNG, DS9. Even Voyager and

Enterprise.Iwatchedthemallinchronologicalorder.Themovies,too.Phaserslockedontarget.Igavemyselfacrashcoursein’80sSaturday-morningcartoons.IlearnedthenameofeverylastgoddamnGobotandTransformer.

LandoftheLost,ThundarrtheBarbarian,He-Man,SchoolhouseRock!,G.I.Joe—Iknewthemall.Becauseknowingishalfthebattle.Whowasmyfriend,whenthingsgotrough?H.R.Pufnstuf.Japan?DidIcoverJapan?Yes.Yesindeed.Animeandlive-action.Godzilla,Gamera,StarBlazers,The

SpaceGiants,andG-Force.Go,SpeedRacer,Go.Iwasn’tsomedilettante.Iwasn’tscrewingaround.ImemorizedeverylastBillHicksstand-uproutine.Music?Well,coveringallthemusicwasn’teasy.Ittooksometime.The ’80swas a longdecade (tenwholeyears), andHallidaydidn’t seem to

havehadverydiscerningtaste.Helistenedtoeverything.SoIdidtoo.Pop,rock,new wave, punk, heavy metal. From the Police to Journey to R.E.M. to theClash.Itackleditall.IburnedthroughtheentireTheyMightBeGiantsdiscographyinunder two

weeks.Devotookalittlelonger.IwatchedalotofYouTubevideosofcutegeekygirlsplaying’80scovertunes

on ukuleles. Technically, this wasn’t part of my research, but I had a seriouscute-geeky-girls-playing-ukulelesfetishthatIcanneitherexplainnordefend.Imemorized lyrics. Silly lyrics, by bandswith names likeVanHalen, Bon

Jovi,DefLeppard,andPinkFloyd.Ikeptatit.Iburnedthemidnightoil.DidyouknowthatMidnightOilwasanAustralianband,witha1987hittitled

“BedsAreBurning”?Iwasobsessed.Iwouldn’tquit.Mygradessuffered.Ididn’tcare.IreadeveryissueofeverycomicbooktitleHallidayhadevercollected.Iwasn’tgoingtohaveanyonequestioningmycommitment.Especiallywhenitcametothevideogames.Videogamesweremyareaofexpertise.Mydouble-weaponspecialization.MydreamJeopardy!category.I downloaded every game mentioned or referenced in the Almanac, from

AkalabethtoZaxxon.IplayedeachtitleuntilIhadmasteredit,thenmovedontothenextone.You’dbeamazedhowmuchresearchyoucangetdonewhenyouhavenolife

whatsoever.Twelvehoursaday,sevendaysaweek,isalotofstudytime.I worked my way through every videogame genre and platform. Classic

arcadecoin-ops,homecomputer,console,andhandheld.Text-basedadventures,first-person shooters, third-person RPGs. Ancient 8-, 16-, and 32-bit classicswritten in the previous century. The harder a game was to beat, the more Ienjoyed it.And as I played these ancient digital relics, night after night, yearafteryear,IdiscoveredIhadatalentforthem.Icouldmastermostactiontitlesin a fewhours, and therewasn’t an adventureor role-playinggame I couldn’tsolve.Ineverneededanywalkthroughsorcheatcodes.Everythingjustclicked.And Iwas even better at the old arcade games.When Iwas in the zone on ahigh-speedclassiclikeDefender,Ifeltlikeahawkinflight,orthewayIthoughtasharkmustfeelasitcruisestheoceanfloor.Forthefirsttime,Iknewwhatitwastobeanaturalatsomething.Tohaveagift.But itwasn’tmy research into oldmovies, comics, or videogames that had

yieldedmyfirstrealclue.ThathadcomewhileIwasstudyingthehistoryofoldpen-and-paperrole-playinggames.

ReprintedonthefirstpageofAnorak’sAlmanacwerethefourrhyminglinesofverseHallidayhadrecitedintheInvitationvideo.

ThreehiddenkeysopenthreesecretgatesWhereintheerrantwillbetestedforworthytraitsAndthosewiththeskilltosurvivethesestraitsWillreachTheEndwheretheprizeawaits

Atfirst,thisseemedtobetheonlydirectreferencetothecontestintheentire

almanac.Butthen,buriedamongallthoseramblingjournalentriesandessaysonpopculture,Idiscoveredahiddenmessage.ScatteredthroughoutthetextoftheAlmanacwereaseriesofmarkedletters.

Eachoftheselettershadatiny,nearlyinvisible“notch”cutintoitsoutline.I’dfirstnoticed thesenotches theyearafterHallidaydied. Iwas readingmyhardcopy of the Almanac at the time, and so at first I thought the notches werenothingbuttinyprintingimperfections,perhapsduetothepaperortheancientprinter I’d used to print out theAlmanac. But when I checked the electronicversionofthebookavailableonHalliday’swebsite,Ifoundthesamenotchesontheexactsameletters.Andifyouzoomedinononeofthoseletters,thenotchesstoodoutasplainasday.Hallidayhadputthemthere.He’dmarkedtheselettersforareason.There turned out to be one hundred and twelve of these notched letters

scatteredthroughoutthebook.Bywritingthemdownintheordertheyappeared,

Idiscoveredthattheyspelledsomething.InearlydiedofexcitementasIwroteitdowninmygraildiary:

TheCopperKeyawaitsexplorersInatombfilledwithhorrorsButyouhavemuchtolearn

IfyouhopetoearnAplaceamongthehighscorers

Other gunters had also discovered this hiddenmessage, of course, but they

wereallwiseenoughtokeepit to themselves.Forawhile,anyway.Aboutsixmonths after I discovered the hiddenmessage, this loudmouthMIT freshmanfoundittoo.HisnamewasStevenPendergast,andhedecidedtogethisfifteenminutes of fame by sharing his “discovery” with the media. The newsfeedsbroadcast interviewswith thismoron foramonth, even thoughhedidn’thavethefirstclueaboutthemessage’smeaning.Afterthat,goingpublicwithacluebecameknownas“pullingaPendergast.”Once the message became public knowledge, gunters nicknamed it “the

Limerick.”Theentireworldhadknownaboutitforalmostfouryearsnow,butnooneseemedtounderstanditstruemeaning,andtheCopperKeystillhadyettobefound.I knew Halliday had frequently used similar riddles in many of his early

adventuregames,andeachofthoseriddleshadmadesenseinthecontextofitsgame. So I devoted an entire section of my grail diary to deciphering theLimerick,linebyline.TheCopperKeyawaitsexplorersThis line seemed pretty straightforward. No hidden meaning that I could

detect.Inatombfilledwithhorrors.Thislinewastrickier.Takenatfacevalue,itseemedtosaythatthekeywas

hidden ina tombsomewhere,onefilledwithhorrifyingstuff.But then,duringthecourseofmyresearch,IdiscoveredanoldDungeons&DragonssupplementcalledTombofHorrors,whichhadbeenpublishedin1978.FromthemomentIsawthetitle,IwascertainthesecondlineoftheLimerickwasareferencetoit.Halliday andMorrowhad playedAdvancedDungeons&Dragons all throughhigh school, along with several other pen-and-paper role-playing games, likeGURPS,Champions,CarWars,andRolemaster.TombofHorrorswasa thinbookletcalleda“module.”Itcontaineddetailed

mapsandroom-by-roomdescriptionsofanundergroundlabyrinthinfestedwith

undeadmonsters.D&Dplayerscouldexplorethelabyrinthwiththeircharactersasthedungeonmasterreadfromthemoduleandguidedthemthroughthestoryitcontained,describingeverythingtheysawandencounteredalongtheway.As I learned more about how these early role-playing games worked, I

realized that a D&D module was the primitive equivalent of a quest in theOASIS.AndD&D characterswere just like avatars. In away, these old role-playinggameshadbeenthefirstvirtual-realitysimulations,createdlongbeforecomputerswerepowerfulenoughtodothejob.Inthosedays,ifyouwantedtoescape to anotherworld, youhad to create it yourself, usingyourbrain, somepaper, pencils, dice, and a few rule books. This realization kind of blew mymind. Itchangedmywholeperspectiveon theHunt forHalliday’sEasteregg.Fromthenon,Ibegantothinkof theHuntasanelaborateD&Dmodule.AndHallidaywasobviouslythedungeonmaster,evenifhewasnowcontrollingthegamefrombeyondthegrave.I found a digital copy of the sixty-seven-year-oldTomb ofHorrorsmodule

buried deep in an ancient FTP archive. As I studied it, I began to develop atheory:SomewhereintheOASIS,Hallidayhadre-createdtheTombofHorrors,andhe’dhiddentheCopperKeyinsideit.I spent the next fewmonths studying themodule andmemorizing all of its

mapsandroomdescriptions,inanticipationofthedayIwouldfinallyfigureoutwhereitwaslocated.Butthatwastherub:TheLimerickdidn’tappeartogiveanyhintastowhereHallidayhadhiddenthedamnthing.Theonlyclueseemedto be “you have much to learn if you hope to earn a place among the highscorers.”I recited those words over and over in my head until I wanted to howl in

frustration.Muchtolearn.Yeah,OK,fine.Ihavemuchtolearnaboutwhat?Therewere literally thousands ofworlds in theOASIS, andHalliday could

have hidden his re-creation of the Tomb of Horrors on any one of them.Searching every planet, one by one, would take forever. Even if I’d had themeanstodoso.AplanetnamedGygaxinSectorTwoseemedlike theobviousplacetostart

looking.Halliday had coded the planet himself, and he’d named it afterGaryGygax, one of the creators of Dungeons & Dragons and the author of theoriginalTombofHorrorsmodule.AccordingtoGunterpedia(agunterwiki),theplanetGygaxwascoveredwithre-creationsofoldD&Dmodules,butTombofHorrorswasnotoneofthem.Theredidn’tappeartobeare-creationofthetombon any of the other D&D-themed worlds in the OASIS either. Gunters hadturnedallof thoseplanetsupsidedownandscouredeverysquare inchof theirsurfaces.Hadare-creationoftheTombofHorrorsbeenhiddenononeofthem,

itwouldhavebeenfoundandloggedlongago.Sothetombhadtobehiddensomewhereelse.AndIdidn’thavethefirstclue

where.ButItoldmyselfthatifIjustkeptatitandcontinueddoingresearch,I’deventuallylearnwhatIneededtoknowtofigureoutthetomb’shidingplace.Infact,thatwasprobablywhatHallidaymeantby“youhavemuchtolearnifyouhopetoearnaplaceamongthehighscorers.”IfanyotherguntersouttheresharedmyinterpretationoftheLimerick,sofar

they’dbeensmartenoughtokeepquietaboutit.I’dneverseenanypostsabouttheTombofHorrorsonanyguntermessageboards. I realized,of course, thatthismight be becausemy theory about the oldD&Dmodulewas completelylameandtotallyoffbase.SoI’dcontinuedtowatchandreadandlistenandstudy,preparingfortheday

whenIfinallystumbledacrossthecluethatwouldleadmetotheCopperKey.Andthenitfinallyhappened.RightwhileIwassittingtheredaydreamingin

Latinclass.

Our teacher, Ms. Rank, was standing at the front of the class, slowlyconjugatingLatinverbs.ShesaidtheminEnglishfirst,theninLatin,andeachwordautomaticallyappearedontheboardbehindherasshespokeit.Wheneverwe were doing tedious verb conjugation, I always got the lyrics to an oldSchoolhouseRock!songstuckinmyhead:“Torun,togo,toget,togive.Verb!You’rewhat’shappenin’!”IwasquietlyhummingthistunetomyselfwhenMs.Rankbegantoconjugate

theLatinfortheverb“tolearn.”“ToLearn.Discere,”shesaid.“Now,thisoneshouldbeeasytoremember,becauseit’ssimilartotheEnglishword‘discern,’whichalsomeans‘tolearn.’”Hearingherrepeatthephrase“tolearn”wasenoughtomakemethinkofthe

Limerick.Youhavemuch to learn ifyouhope toearnaplaceamong thehighscorers.Ms.Rankcontinued,usingtheverbinasentence.“Wegotoschooltolearn,”

shesaid.“Petimusscholamutlitterasdiscamus.”Andthatwaswhenithitme.Likeananvilfallingoutofthesky,directlyonto

myskull.Igazedaroundatmyclassmates.Whatgroupofpeoplehas“muchtolearn”?Students.High-schoolstudents.Iwasonaplanetfilledwithstudents,allofwhomhad“muchtolearn.”What if the Limerick was saying that the tomb was hidden right here, on

Ludus?Theveryplanetwhere I’dbeen twiddlingmy thumbs for thepast fiveyears?Then I remembered that ludus was also a Latin word, meaning “school.” I

pulledupmyLatindictionarytodouble-checkthedefinition,andthatwaswhenIdiscoveredthewordhadmorethanonemeaning.Luduscouldmean“school,”butitcouldalsomean“sport”or“game.”Game.I fell out of my folding chair and landed with a thud on the floor of my

hideout.MyOASISconsoletrackedthismovementandattemptedtomakemyavatar drop to the floor of my Latin classroom, but the classroom conductsoftwarepreventeditfrommovingandawarningflashedonmydisplay:PLEASEREMAINSEATEDDURINGCLASS!Itoldmyselfnottogettooexcited.Imightbejumpingtoconclusions.There

werehundredsofprivateschoolsanduniversitieslocatedonotherplanetsinsidethe OASIS. The Limerick might refer to one of them. But I didn’t think so.Ludus made more sense. James Halliday had donated billions to fund thecreationof theOASISpublic school systemhere,asaway todemonstrate thehuge potential of the OASIS as an educational tool. And prior to his death,HallidayhadsetupafoundationtoensurethattheOASISpublicschoolsystemwould always have the money it needed to operate. The Halliday LearningFoundation also provided impoverished children around the globe with freeOASIShardwareandInternetaccesssothattheycouldattendschoolinsidetheOASIS.GSS’sownprogrammershaddesignedandconstructedLudusandallof the

schoolsonit.SoitwasentirelypossiblethatHallidaywastheonewho’dgiventheplanet itsname.Andhewouldalsohavehadaccess to theplanet’s sourcecode,ifhe’dwantedtohidesomethinghere.The realizationscontinued todetonate inmybrain likeatomicbombsgoing

off,oneafteranother.AccordingtotheoriginalD&Dmodule,theentrancetotheTombofHorrors

washiddennear“alow,flat-toppedhill,abouttwohundredyardswideandthreehundredyardslong.”Thetopofthehillwascoveredwithlargeblackstonesthatwerearrangedinsuchawaythat,ifyouviewedthemfromagreatheight,theyresembledtheeyesockets,noseholes,andteethofahumanskull.But if there was a hill like that hidden somewhere on Ludus, wouldn’t

someonehavestumbledacrossitbynow?Maybenot.Ludushadhundredsoflargeforestsscatteredalloveritssurface,

in the vast sections of empty land that stood between the thousands of schoolcampuses. Some of these forests were enormous, covering dozens of squaremiles.Moststudentsneverevensetfootinsidethem,becausetherewasnothingofinteresttodoorseethere.Likeitsfieldsandriversandlakes,Ludus’sforestswere just computer-generated landscaping, placed there to fill up the emptyspace.Ofcourse,duringmyavatar’s longstayonLudus,I’dexploredafewofthe

forests within walking distance of my school, out of boredom. But all theycontainedwere thousandsofrandomlygenerated treesandtheoccasionalbird,rabbit,orsquirrel.(Thesetinycreaturesweren’tworthanyexperiencepointsif

youkilledthem.I’dchecked.)So itwas entirely possible that somewhere, hidden in oneofLudus’s large,

unexplored patches of forestland, there was a small stone-covered hill thatresembledahumanskull.I triedpullingupamapofLudusonmydisplay,butIcouldn’t.Thesystem

wouldn’t letme, because classwas still in session.The hack I used to accessbooksintheschool’sonlinelibrarydidn’tworkfortheOASISatlassoftware.“Shit!” I blurted out in frustration. The classroom conduct software filtered

thisout, soneitherMs.Ranknormyclassmatesheard it.Butanotherwarningflashedonmydisplay:PROFANITYMUTED—MISCONDUCTWARNING!I looked at the time on my display. Exactly seventeen minutes and twenty

secondsleftuntil theendoftheschoolday.Isat therewithclenchedteethandcountedoffeachsecond,mymindstillracing.LuduswasaninconspicuousworldinSectorOne.Therewasn’tsupposedto

beanythingbutschoolshere,sothiswasthelastplaceagunterwouldthinktolook for theCopperKey. Itwasdefinitely the lastplace I had ever thought tolook, and that alone proved it was a perfect hiding place. But why wouldHallidayhavechosentohidetheCopperKeyhere?Unless…He’dwantedaschoolkidtofindit.Iwasstillreelingfromtheimplicationsofthatthoughtwhenthebellfinally

rang.Aroundme, theotherstudentsbegan tofileoutof theroomorvanish intheirseats.Ms.Rank’savataralsodisappeared,andinmomentsIwasallaloneintheclassroom.IpulledupamapofLudusonmydisplay.Itappearedasathree-dimensional

globe floating in frontofme,and Igave ita spinwithmyhand.Luduswasarelatively small planet by OASIS standards, about a third the size of Earth’smoon, with a circumference of exactly one thousand kilometers. A singlecontiguous continent covered the surface. There were no oceans, just a fewdozenlargelakesplacedhereandthere.SinceOASISplanetsweren’treal,theydidn’thave toobey the lawsofnature.OnLudus, itwasperpetuallydaytime,regardlessofwhereyoustoodonthesurface,andtheskywasalwaysaperfectcloudlessblue.Thestationarysunthathungoverheardwasnothingbutavirtuallightsource,programmedintotheimaginarysky.On the map, the school campuses appeared as thousands of identical

numberedrectanglesdottingtheplanet’ssurface.Theywereseparatedbyrollinggreenfields,rivers,mountainranges,andforests.Theforestswereofallshapesand sizes, andmany of thembordered one of the schools.Next to themap, Ipulled up the Tomb of Horrors module. Near the front, it contained a crudeillustrationofthehillconcealingthetomb.Itookascreenshotofthisillustration

andplaceditinthecornerofmydisplay.IfranticallysearchedmyfavoritewarezsitesuntilIfoundahigh-endimage-

recognition plug-in for theOASIS atlas. Once I downloaded the software viaGuntorrent,ittookmeafewmoreminutestofigureouthowtomakeitscantheentiresurfaceofLudusforahillwithlargeblackstonesarrangedinaskull-likepattern. One with a size, shape, and appearance that matched the illustrationfromtheTombofHorrorsmodule.After about ten minutes of searching, the software highlighted a possible

match.Iheldmybreathas Iplaced theclose-up imagefromtheLudusmapbeside

theillustrationfromtheD&Dmodule.Theshapeofthehillandtheskullpatternofthestonesbothmatchedtheillustrationperfectly.Idecreasedthemagnificationonthemapabit,thenpulledbackfarenoughto

confirmthatthenorthernedgeofthehillendedinacliffofsandandcrumblinggravel.JustlikeintheoriginalDungeons&Dragonsmodule.Iletoutatriumphantyellthatechoedintheemptyclassroomandbouncedoff

thewallsofmytinyhideout.I’ddoneit.I’dactuallyfoundtheTombofHorrors!WhenIfinallymanagedtocalmdown,Ididsomequickcalculations.Thehill

wasnearthecenterofalargeamoeba-shapedforestlocatedontheoppositesideofLudus,overfourhundredkilometersfrommyschool.Myavatarcouldrunatamaximum speed of five kilometers an hour, so itwould takeme over threedays toget thereon foot if I rannonstop the entire time. If I could teleport, Icould be there within minutes. The fare wouldn’t be much for such a shortdistance,maybea fewhundredcredits.Unfortunately, thatwas stillmore thanmycurrentOASISaccountbalance,whichwasabigfatzero.Iconsideredmyoptions.Aechwould lendme themoney for the fare,but I

didn’twanttoaskforhishelp.IfIcouldn’treachthetombonmyown,Ididn’tdeservetoreachitatall.Besides,I’dhavetolietoAechaboutwhatthemoneywas for, and since I’d never asked him for a loan before, any excuse I gavewouldmakehimsuspicious.ThinkingaboutAech,Icouldn’thelpbutsmile.Hewasreallygoingtofreak

whenhefoundoutaboutthis.Thetombwashiddenlessthanseventykilometersfromhisschool!Practicallyhisbackyard.Thatthoughttriggeredanidea,onethatmademeleaptomyfeet.Iranoutof

theclassroomanddownthehall.NotonlyhadIfiguredoutawaytoteleporttotheothersideofLudus,Iknew

howtogetmyschooltopayforit.EachOASISpublicschoolhadabunchofdifferentathleticteams,including

wrestling, soccer, football, baseball, volleyball, and a few other sports that

couldn’tbeplayedintherealworld,likeQuidditchandzero-gravityCapturetheFlag.Studentswentoutfor theseteamsjust liketheydidatschools intherealworld, and theyplayedusingelaborate sports-capablehaptic rigs that requiredthemtoactuallydoalloftheirownrunning,jumping,kicking,tackling,andsoon.Theteamshadnightlypractice,heldpeprallies,andtraveledtootherschoolson Ludus to compete against them. Our school gave out free teleportationvoucherstoanystudentwhowantedtoattendanawaygame,sowecouldsitupinthestandsandrootforoldOPS#1873.I’donlytakenadvantageofthisonce,whenourCapture theFlag teamhadplayedagainstAech’s school in theOPSchampionships.When I arrived in the school office, I scanned the activities schedule and

foundwhat Iwas looking for right away.That evening,our football teamwasplayinganawaygameagainstOPS#0571,whichwaslocatedroughlyanhour’srunfromtheforestwherethetombwashidden.I reached out and selected the game, and a teleportation voucher instantly

appearedinmyavatar’sinventory,goodforonefreeround-triptoOPS#0571.I stopped atmy locker long enough to drop offmy textbooks and grabmy

flashlight,sword,shield,andarmor.ThenIsprintedout thefrontentranceandacrosstheexpansivegreenlawninfrontoftheschool.WhenIreachedtheredborderlinethatmarkedtheedgeoftheschoolgrounds,

Iglancedaroundtomakesurenoonewaswatchingme,thensteppedacrosstheline. As I did, the WADE3 nametag floating above my head changed to readPARZIVAL.NowthatIwasoffschoolgrounds,Icouldusemyavatarnameonceagain.Icouldalsoturnoffmynametagcompletely,whichwaswhatIdidnow,becauseIwantedtotravelincognito.Thenearesttransportterminalwasashortwalkfromtheschool,attheendof

a cobblestonepath. Itwas a largedomedpavilion supportedbyadozen ivorypillars.EachpillarboreanOASISteleportationicon,acapital“T”inthecenterofabluehexagon.Schoolhadonlybeenoutforafewminutesnow,sotherewasasteadystreamofavatarsfilingintotheterminal.Insidewerelongrowsofblueteleportation booths. Their shape and color always reminded me of DoctorWho’sTARDIS.IsteppedintothefirstemptyboothIsaw,andthedoorsclosedautomatically.Ididn’tneedtoentermydestinationonthetouchscreenbecauseitwas already encoded onmy voucher. I just slid the voucher into a slot and aworldmap ofLudus appeared on the screen, showing a line frommy presentlocation tomydestination,aflashinggreendotnext toOPS#0571.Theboothinstantly calculated thedistance Iwouldbe traveling (462kilometers) and theamountmyschoolwouldbeinvoicedforthefare(103credits).Thevoucherwasverified,thefareshowedasPAID,andmyavatarvanished.

I instantly reappeared in an identical booth, inside an identical transportterminalontheoppositesideoftheplanet.AsIranoutside,IspottedOPS#0571off to the south. It lookedexactly likemyownschool, except the surroundinglandscape was different. I spotted some students from my school, walkingtowardthenearbyfootballstadium,ontheirwaytowatchthegameandrootforour team. I wasn’t sure why they bothered. They could just as easily havewatchedthegameviavidfeed.AndanyemptyseatsinthestandswouldbefilledwithrandomlygeneratedNPCfanswhowouldwolfdownvirtualsodasandhotdogswhilecheeringwildly.Occasionally,theywouldevendo“thewave.”Iwas already running in the opposite direction, across a rolling green field

that stretched out behind the school. A small mountain range loomed in thedistance,andIcouldseetheamoeba-shapedforestatitsbase.I turned on my avatar’s autorun feature, then opened my inventory and

selected three of the items listed there.My armor appeared on my body, myshieldappearedinaslingonmyback,andmyswordappearedinitsscabbard,hangingatmyside.Iwasalmosttotheedgeoftheforestwhenmyphonerang.TheIDsaiditwas

Aech.ProbablycallingtoseewhyIhadn’tloggedintotheBasementyet.ButifIansweredthecall,hewouldseealivevideofeedofmyavatar,runningacrossafieldattopspeed,withOPS#0571shrinkinginthedistancebehindme.Icouldconcealmycurrentlocationbytakingthecallasaudioonly,butthatmightmakehimsuspicious.So I let thecall roll tomyvidmail.Aech’s faceappeared inasmall window on my display. He was calling from a PvP arena somewhere.Dozens of avatarswere locked in fierce combat on amultitiered playing fieldbehindhim.“Yo, Z! What are you up to? Jerking off to Ladyhawke?” He flashed his

Cheshiregrin.“Givemeashout.I’mstillplanningtopopsomecornandhaveaSpacedmarathon.Youdown?”Hehungupandhisimagewinkedout.I sent a text-only reply, saying I had a ton of homework and couldn’t hang

tonight.ThenIpulleduptheTombofHorrorsmoduleandbegantoreadthroughitagain,pagebypage.Ididthisslowlyandcarefully,becauseIwasprettysureitcontainedadetaileddescriptionofeverythingIwasabouttoface.“In the far reaches of the world, under a lost and lonely hill,” read the

module’s introduction, “lies the sinister TOMB OF HORRORS. This labyrinthinecrypt is filled with terrible traps, strange and ferocious monsters, rich andmagicaltreasures,andsomewherewithinreststheevilDemi-Lich.”Thatlastbitworriedme.Alichwasanundeadcreature,usuallyanincredibly

powerfulwizardorkingwhohademployeddarkmagic tobindhis intellect tohisownreanimatedcorpse,thusachievingapervertedformofimmortality.I’d

encounteredlichesincountlessvideogamesandfantasynovels.Theyweretobeavoidedatallcosts.I studied themap of the tomb and the descriptions of itsmany rooms.The

tomb’sentrancewasburiedinthesideofacrumblingcliff.Atunnel leddownintoalabyrinthofthirty-threeroomsandchambers,eachfilledwithavarietyofviciousmonsters, deadly traps, and (mostly cursed) treasure. If you somehowmanagedtosurviveallofthetrapsandfindyourwaythroughthelabyrinth,youwould eventually reach the crypt of Acererak the Demi-Lich. The room waslitteredwithtreasure,butifyoutouchedit,theundeadKingAcererakappearedand opened up a can of undead whup-ass on you. If, by some miracle, youmanagedtodefeat the lich,youcould takehis treasureand leave thedungeon.Missionaccomplished,questcompleted.IfHallidayhadre-createdtheTombofHorrorsjustasitwasdescribedinthe

module,Iwasinbigtrouble.Myavatarwasathird-levelwimp,withnonmagicalweapons and twenty-seven measly hit points. Nearly all of the traps andmonsters described in the module could kill me easily. And if I somehowmanagedtomakeitpastallofthemandreachthecrypt,theultrapowerfullichcouldkillmyavatarinseconds,justbylookingathim.ButIhadafewthingsgoingforme.First,Ireallydidn’thavemuchtolose.If

myavatarwaskilled,Iwouldlosemysword,shield,andleatherarmor,andthethreelevelsI’dmanagedtogainoverthepastfewyears.I’dhavetocreateanewfirst-levelavatar,whichwouldspawnatmylastlog-inlocation,infrontofmyschoollocker.ButthenIcouldjustreturntothetombandtryagain.Andagainand again, every night, collecting XPs and increasing in levels until I finallyfiguredoutwhere theCopperKeywashidden. (Therewasno such thingas abackupavatar.OASISuserscouldhaveonlyoneavataratatime.Itwaspossibleforhackerstousemoddedvisorstospooftheirretinalpatternsandthuscreateasecondaccountforthemselves.Butifyougotcaught,you’dbebannedfromtheOASISfor life,andyou’dalsobedisqualified fromparticipating inHalliday’scontest.Nogunterwouldevertakethatrisk.)Myotheradvantage(Ihoped)wasthatIknewexactlywhattoexpectonceI

entered the tomb,because themoduleprovidedmewithadetailedmapof theentire labyrinth. It also toldmewhere all the trapswere located, and how todisarmoravoidthem.Ialsoknewwhichroomscontainedmonsters,andwhereall of theweapons and treasurewere hidden.Unless, of course, Halliday hadchanged thingsaround.Then Iwasscrewed.Butat themoment, Iwas far tooexcited to be worried. After all, I’d just made the biggest, most importantdiscoveryofmylife.IwasjustafewminutesawayfromthehidingplaceoftheCopperKey!

I finally reached the edge of the forest and ran inside. It was filled withthousandsofperfectlyrenderedmaples,oaks,spruces,andtamaracks.Thetreeslooked as though they had been generated and placed using standard OASISlandscape templates, but the detail put into them was stunning. I stopped toexamineoneofthetreescloselyandsawantscrawlingalongtheintricateridgesinitsbark.ItookthisasasignIwasontherighttrack.Therewasnopaththroughtheforest,soIkept themapinthecornerofmy

displayandfollowedittotheskull-toppedhillthatmarkedthetombentrance.Itwas rightwhere themapsaid itwouldbe, ina largegladeat thecenterof theforest.AsIsteppedintotheclearing,myheartfeltlikeitwastryingtobeatitswayoutofmyribcage.Iclimbedupontothelowhilltop,anditwaslikesteppingintotheillustration

from the D&D module. Halliday had reproduced everything exactly. Twelvemassive black stones were arranged on the hilltop in the same pattern,resemblingthefeaturesofahumanskull.Iwalkedtothenorthernedgeofthehilltopanddescendedthecrumblingcliff

faceIfoundthere.Byconsultingthemodulemap,Iwasabletolocatetheexactspotinthecliffwheretheentrancetothetombwassupposedtobeburied.Then,usingmyshieldasashovel,Ibegantodig.Withinafewminutes,Iuncoveredthemouthofatunnelthatledintoadarkundergroundcorridor.Thefloorofthecorridorwasamosaicofcolorfulstones,withawindingpathofredtilessetintoit.Onceagain,justlikeintheD&Dmodule.I moved the Tomb of Horrors dungeon map to the top right corner of my

displayandmadeitslightlytransparent.ThenIstrappedmyshieldtomybackandtookoutmyflashlight.Iglancedaroundoncemoretomakesurenoonewaswatchingme;then,clutchingmyswordinmyotherhand,IenteredtheTombofHorrors.

Thewallsofthecorridorleadingintothetombwerecoveredwithdozensofstrange paintings depicting enslaved humans, orcs, elves, and other creatures.Each fresco appeared in the exact location described in the original D&Dmodule. Iknewthathidden in the tiledstonesurfaceof the floorwereseveralspring-loadedtrapdoors.Ifyousteppedonone,itsnappedopenanddroppedyouinto a pit filled with poisoned iron spikes. But because the location of eachhiddentrapdoorwasclearlymarkedonmymap,Iwasabletoavoidallofthem.Sofar,everythinghadfollowedtheoriginalmoduletotheletter.Ifthesame

wastruefortherestofthetomb,Imightbeabletosurvivelongenoughtolocatethe CopperKey. Therewere only a fewmonsters lurking in this dungeon—agargoyle, a skeleton, a zombie, some asps, a mummy, and the evil demi-lichAcererak himself. Since the map told me where each of them was hiding, Ishould be able to avoid fighting them. Unless, of course, one of them wasguarding the Copper Key. And I could already guess who probably had thathonor.Itriedtoproceedcarefully,asifIhadnoideawhattoexpect.Avoiding the Sphere of Annihilation located at the end of the corridor, I

located a hidden door beside the last pit trap. It opened into a small slopingpassageway.My flashlight reached into the darkness ahead, flickering off thedamp stonewalls.My surroundingsmademe feel like Iwas in a low-budgetsword-and-sorceryflick,likeHawktheSlayerorTheBeastmaster.Ibegantomakemywaythroughthedungeon,roombyroom.EventhoughI

knewwhereallofthetrapswerelocated,Istillhadtoproceedcarefullytoavoidthemall. In a dark, forbidding chamber knownas theChapel ofEvil, I foundthousands of gold and silver coins hidden in the pews, rightwhere theyweresupposed tobe. Itwasmoremoney thanmyavatarcouldcarry, evenwith theBagofHoldingthatIfound.IgatheredupasmanyofthegoldcoinsasIcouldand theyappeared inmy inventory.Thecurrencywasautomaticallyconvertedandmycreditcounterjumpedtoovertwentythousand,byfarthelargestamount

ofmoney I’d ever had.And in addition to the credits,my avatar received anequalnumberofexperiencepointsforobtainingthecoins.AsIcontinueddeeperintothetomb,Iobtainedseveralmagicitemsalongthe

way.A+1FlamingSword.AGemofSeeing.A+1RingofProtection. Ievenfoundasuitof+3FullPlatearmor.Thesewerethefirstmagicitemsmyavatarhadeverpossessed,andtheymademefeelunstoppable.WhenIputonthesuitofmagicalarmor,itshranktofitmyavatarperfectly.

Itsgleamingchromeappearanceremindedmeofthebad-assarmorwornbytheknights in Excalibur. I actually switched to a third-person view for a fewseconds,justtoadmirehowcoolmyavatarlookedwearingit.The farther I went, the more confident I became. The tomb’s layout and

contents continued to match the module description exactly, down to the lastdetail.Thatis,untilIreachedthePillaredThroneRoom.It was a large square chamber with a high ceiling, filled with dozens of

massivestonecolumns.Ahugeraiseddaisstoodatthefarendoftheroom,atopwhichrestedanobsidianthroneinlaidwithsilverandivoryskulls.All this matched the module description exactly, with one huge difference.

Thethronewassupposedtobeempty,butitwasn’t.Thedemi-lichAcererakwassitting on it, glaring down at me silently. A dusty gold crown glinted on hiswitheredhead.HeappearedexactlyashedidonthecoveroftheoriginalTombofHorrorsmodule.But according to its text,Acererakwasn’t supposed to behere.Hewas supposed to bewaiting in a burial chambermuch deeper in thedungeon.Iconsideredrunningbutdecidedagainstit.IfHallidayhadplacedthelichin

thisroom,perhapshe’dplacedtheCopperKeyheretoo.Ihadtofindout.Iwalkedacrossthechambertothefootofthedais.FromhereIcouldseethe

lichmoreclearly.Histeethweretworowsofpointedcutdiamondsarrayedinaliplessgrin,andalargerubywassetineachofhiseyesockets.Forthefirsttimesinceenteringthetomb,Iwasn’tsurewhattodonext.My chances of surviving one-on-one combat with a demi-lich were

nonexistent.Mywimpy+1FlamingSwordcouldn’tevenaffecthim,andthetwomagicrubiesinhiseyesocketshadthepowertosuckoutmyavatar’slifeforceandkillmeinstantly.Evenapartyofsixorsevenhigh-levelavatarswouldhavehadadifficulttimedefeatinghim.I silently wished (not for the last time) that the OASIS was like an old

adventuregameandthatIcouldsavemyplace.Butitwasn’t,andIcouldn’t.Ifmyavatardiedhere,itwouldmeanstartingoverwithnothing.Buttherewasnopointinhesitatingnow.Ifthelichkilledme,Iwouldcomebacktomorrownightandtryagain.TheentiretombshouldresetwhentheOASISserverclockstruck

midnight.Ifitdid,allofthehiddentrapsI’ddisarmedwouldresetthemselves,andthetreasureandmagicitemswouldreappear.ItappedtheRecordiconattheedgeofmydisplaysothatwhateverhappened

nextwouldbestoredinavidcapfileIcouldplaybackandstudylater.ButwhenI tapped the icon, I got a RECORDING NOT ALLOWED message. It seemed thatHallidayhaddisabledrecordinginsidethetomb.Itookadeepbreath,raisedmysword,andplacedmyrightfootonthebottom

step of the dais.As I did, therewas a sound like cracking bones asAcererakslowly lifted his head. The rubies in his eye sockets began to glow with anintenseredlight.Itookseveralstepsbackward,expectinghimtoleapdownandattackme.Buthedidn’trisefromhisthrone.Instead,heloweredhisheadandfixedmewithhischillinggaze.“Greetings,Parzival,”hesaidinaraspingvoice.“Whatisitthatyouseek?”Thiscaughtmeoffguard.Accordingtothemodule,thelichwouldn’tspeak.

Hewasjustsupposedtoattack,leavingmewithnochoicebuttokillhimorrunformylife.“I seek theCopperKey,” I replied.Then I remembered Iwas speaking toa

king, so I quickly bowed my head, dropped to one knee, and added, “YourMajesty.”“Of course you do,”Acererak said,motioning forme to rise. “And you’ve

come to the right place.”He stood, and hismummified skin cracked like oldleather as he moved. I clutched my sword more tightly, still anticipating anattack.“How can I know that you areworthy of possessing the Copper Key?” he

asked.Holyshit!HowthehellwasIsupposedtoanswerthat?AndwhatifIgavethe

wronganswer?Wouldhesuckoutmysoulandincinerateme?I rackedmybrain for a suitable reply.The best I could come upwithwas,

“Allowmetoprovemyworth,nobleAcererak.”Thelichletoutalong,disturbingcacklethatechoedoffthechamber’sstone

walls. “Very well!” he said. “You shall prove your worth by facing me in ajoust!”I’d never heard of an undead lich king challenging someone to a joust.

Especiallynot inasubterraneanburialchamber.“All right,”Isaiduncertainly.“Butwon’twebeneedinghorsesforthat?”“Nothorses,”hereplied,steppingawayfromhisthrone.“Birds.”He waved a skeletal hand at his throne. There was a brief flash of light,

accompaniedbyatransformationsoundeffect(whichIwasprettysurehadbeenliftedfromtheoldSuperFriendscartoon).Thethronemeltedandmorphedinto

an old coin-operated videogame cabinet. Two joysticks protruded from itscontrol panel, one yellow and one blue. I couldn’t help but grin as I read thenameonthegame’sbacklitmarquee:JOUST.WilliamsElectronics,1982.“Besttwooutofthreegames,”Acererakrasped.“Ifyouwin,Ishallgrantyou

whatyouseek.”“Whatifyouwin?”Iasked,alreadyknowingtheanswer.“IfIamvictorious,” thelichsaid, therubiesinhiseyesocketsblazingeven

brighter, “thenyou shalldie!”Aballof swirlingorange flameappeared inhisrighthand.Heraiseditthreateningly.“Ofcourse,”Isaid.“Thatwasmyfirstguess.Justwantedtodouble-check.”ThefireballinAcererak’shandvanished.Hestretchedouthisleatherypalm,

whichnowheldtwoshinyquarters.“Thegamesareonme,”hesaid.Hesteppedup to the Joustmachine anddroppedbothquarters into the left coin slot.Thegame emitted two low electronic chimes and the credit counter jumped fromzerototwo.Acereraktookholdoftheyellowjoystickontheleftsideofthecontrolpanel

andclosedhisbonyfingersaroundit.“Artthouready?”hecroaked.“Yeah,”Isaid, takingadeepbreath.Icrackedmyknucklesandgrabbedthe

Player Two joystick with my left hand, poising my right hand over the Flapbutton.Acererakrockedhisheadfromlefttoright,crackinghisneck.Itsoundedlike

a snapping tree branch. Then he slapped the Two Player button and the joustbegan.Joust was a classic ’80s arcade game with a strange premise. Each player

controlsaknightarmedwithalance.PlayerOneismountedonanostrich,whilePlayerTwoismountedonastork.Youflapyourwingstoflyaroundthescreenand“joust”with theotherplayer, andalsoagainst severalcomputer-controlledenemy knights (who are all mounted on buzzards). When you crash into anopponent,whoever’s lance ishigheron the screenwins the joust.The loser iskilledandlosesalife.Wheneveryoukilloneoftheenemyknights,hisbuzzardcrapsoutagreeneggthatquicklyhatchesintoanotherenemyknightifyoudon’tscoop it up in time. There’s also awinged pterodactyl that appears once in awhiletowreakhavoc.Ihadn’tplayedJoustinoverayear.ItwasoneofAech’sfavoritegames,and

forawhilehe’dhadaJoustcabinetinhischatroom.Heusedtochallengemetoagamewheneverhewanted tosettleanargumentorsomeasininepop-culturedispute.Forafewmonths,weplayedalmosteveryday.Inthebeginning,AechwasslightlybetterthanIwas,andhehadahabitofgloatingoverhisvictories.Thishadreallyirkedme,soIstartedpracticingJoustonmyown,playingafew

gamesanightagainstanAIopponent.IhonedmyskillsuntilIfinallygotgoodenough to beatAech, repeatedly and consistently. Then I began to gloat overhim, savoringmy revenge. The last timewe’d played, I’d rubbed his nose indefeat somercilessly thathe’d flippedout andvowednever toplaymeagain.Sincethen,we’dusedStreetFighterIItosettleourdisputes.MyJoustskillswerealotrustierthanIthought.Ispentthefirstfiveminutes

justtryingtorelaxandtoreacquaintmyselfwiththecontrolsandtherhythmofthe game. During this time, Acererak managed to kill me twice, mercilesslyslamminghiswingedmountintomineat theperfect trajectory.Hehandledthegame’scontrolswith thecalculatedperfectionofamachine.Which,ofcourse,wasexactlywhathewas—cutting-edgeNPCartificialintelligence,programmedbyHallidayhimself.By theendofour firstgame, themovesand tricks I’dpickedupduringall

thosemarathonboutswithAechwerestartingtocomebacktome.ButAcererakdidn’tneedawarm-up.Hewasinperfectformfromtheoutset,andtherewasnowayIcouldmakeupformyweakshowingatthestartofthegame.HekilledoffmylastmanbeforeIevencleared30,000points.Embarrassing.“Onegamedown,Parzival,”hesaid,flashingarictusgrin.“Onemoretogo.”Hedidn’twaste timebymakingmestand thereandwatchhimplayout the

restofhisgame.He reachedupand found thepowerswitchat the rearof thegamecabinet,thenflippeditoffandbackon.Afterthescreencycledthroughitschromatic Williams Electronics boot-up sequence, he snatched two morequartersoutofthinairanddroppedthemintothegame.“Artthouready?”heinquiredagain,hunchingoverthecontrolpanel.Ihesitatedamoment,thenasked,“Actually,wouldyoumindifweswitched

sides?I’musedtoplayingontheleft.”It was true. When Aech and I played in the Basement, I always took the

ostrich side.Beingon the right sideduring the first gamehad screwedupmyrhythmabit.Acererak appeared to considermy request for amoment. Then he nodded.

“Certainly,”hesaid.Hesteppedbackfromthecabinetandweswitchedsides.Itsuddenlyoccurredtomejusthowabsurdthisscenewas:aguywearingasuitofarmor, standing next to an undead king, both hunched over the controls of aclassicarcadegame.Itwasthesortofsurrealimageyou’dexpecttoseeonthecoverofanoldissueofHeavyMetalorDragonmagazine.AcererakslappedtheTwoPlayerbutton,andmyeyeslockedonthescreen.Thenextgamestartedoutbadlyformetoo.Myopponent’smovementswere

relentlessandprecise,andIspentthefirstfewwavesjusttryingtoevadehim.Iwasalsodistractedbytheincessantclickofhisskeletalindexfingerashetapped

hisFlapbutton.Iunclenchedmyjawandclearedmymind,forcingmyselfnottothinkabout

whereIwas,whoIwasplayingagainst,orwhatwasatstake.ItriedtoimaginethatIwasbackintheBasement,playingagainstAech.Itworked. I slipped into thezone, and the tidebegan to turn inmy favor. I

begantofindtheflawsinthelich’splayingstyle,theholesinhisprogramming.ThiswassomethingI’dlearnedovertheyears,masteringhundredsofdifferentvideogames. There was always a trick to beating a computer-controlledopponent.Atagamelikethis,agiftedhumanplayercouldalwaystriumphoverthe game’s AI, because software couldn’t improvise. It could either reactrandomly, or in a limited number of predetermined ways, based on a finitenumberof preprogrammedconditions.Thiswas an axiom invideogames, andwouldbeuntilhumansinventedtrueartificialintelligence.Oursecondgamecamerightdowntothewire,butbytheendofit,I’dspotted

apatterntothelich’splayingtechnique.Bychangingmyostrich’sdirectionatacertain moment, I could get him to slam his stork into one of the oncomingbuzzards.Byrepeatingthismove,Iwasabletopickoffhisextralives,onebyone. I died several times myself in the process, but I finally took him downduringthetenthwave,withnoextralivesofmyowntospare.Isteppedbackfromthemachineandsighedwithrelief.Icouldfeelrivuletsof

sweat runningdownmyforeheadandaround theedgeofmyvisor. Iwipedatmyfacewiththesleeveofmyshirt,andmyavatarmimickedthismotion.“Good game,” Acererak said. Then, to my surprise, he offered me his

witheredclawofahand.Ishookit,chucklingnervouslyasIdidso.“Yeah,”Ireplied.“Goodgame,man.”Itoccurredtomethat,inaweirdway,I

was actuallyplaying againstHalliday. I quicklypushed the thoughtoutofmyhead,afraidImightpsychmyselfout.AcererakonceagainproducedtwoquartersanddroppedthemintotheJoust

machine.“Thisoneisforallthemarbles,”hesaid.“Artthouready?”I nodded. This time, I took the liberty of slapping the Two Player button

myself.Ourfinaltie-breakinggamelastedlongerthanthefirsttwocombined.During

the final wave, so many buzzards filled the screen that it was hard to movewithoutgettingdustedbyoneofthem.ThelichandIfacedoffonefinaltime,attheverytopoftheplayingfield,bothofusincessantlyhittingourFlapbuttonswhile slamming our joysticks left and right.Acererakmade a final, desperatemove to avoidmycharge anddropped amicrometer too low.His finalmountdiedinatinypixelatedexplosion.

PLAYER TWOGAMEOVER appeared on the screen, and the lich let out a long

bloodcurdlinghowlofrage.HesmashedanangryfistintothesideoftheJoustcabinet,shatteringitintoamilliontinypixelsthatscatteredandbouncedacrossthe floor. Then he turned to face me. “Congratulations, Parzival,” he said,bowinglow.“Youplayedwell.”“Thank you, noble Acererak,” I replied, resisting the urge to jump up and

downandshakemyassvictoriouslyinhisgeneraldirection.Instead,Isolemnlyreturnedhisbow.AsIdid,thelichtransformedintoatallhumanwizarddressedinflowingblackrobes.Irecognizedhimimmediately.ItwasHalliday’savatar,Anorak.I stared at him, utterly speechless. For years gunters had speculated that

AnorakstillroamedtheOASIS,nowasanautonomousNPC.Halliday’sghostinthemachine.“Now,” the wizard said, speaking with Halliday’s familiar voice. “Your

reward.”Thechamberfilledwiththesoundofafullorchestra.Triumphanthornswere

quicklyjoinedbyastirringstringsection.Irecognizedthemusic.Itwasthelasttrack from JohnWilliams’s originalStarWars score, used in the scenewherePrincess Leia gives Luke andHan theirmedals (andChewbacca, as youmayrecall,getstheshaft).Asthemusicbuilttoacrescendo,Anorakstretchedouthisrighthand.There,

resting in his open palm,was theCopperKey, the item forwhichmillions ofpeople had been searching for the past five years.As he handed it tome, themusicfadedout,andinthesameinstant,Iheardachimesound.I’djustgainedfifty thousand experience points, enough to raisemy avatar all theway up totenthlevel.“Farewell,SirParzival,”Anorak said. “Ibidyougood luckonyourquest.”

AndbeforeIcouldaskwhatIwassupposedtodonext,orwhereIcouldfindthefirstgate,hisavatarvanishedinaflashoflight,accompaniedbyateleportationsoundeffectIknewwasliftedfromtheold’80sDungeons&Dragonscartoon.Ifoundmyselfstandingaloneontheemptydais.IlookeddownattheCopper

Keyinmyhandandfeltovercomewithwonderandelation.Itlookedjustasithad inAnorak’s Invitation: a simple antique copper key, its oval-shaped bowembossed with the roman numeral “I.” I turned it over in my avatar’s hand,watching the torchlight play across the roman numeral, and that was when Ispottedtwosmalllinesoftextengravedintothemetal.Itiltedthekeyuptothelightandreadthemaloud:“WhatyouseeklieshiddeninthetrashonthedeepestlevelofDaggorath.”Ididn’tevenneedtoreaditasecondtime.Iinstantlyunderstooditsmeaning.

I knewexactlywhere I needed togo andwhat Iwouldhave todoonce I got

there.“Hiddeninthetrash”wasareferencetotheancientTRS-80lineofcomputers

madebyTandyandRadioShackinthe’70sand’80s.ComputerusersofthaterahadgiventheTRS-80thederogatorynicknameof“Trash80.”Whatyouseeklieshiddeninthetrash.Halliday’sfirstcomputerhadbeenaTRS-80,withawhopping16KofRAM.

AndIknewexactlywheretofindareplicaofthatcomputerintheOASIS.Everygunterdid.In the early days of theOASIS,Hallidayhad created a small planet named

Middletown, named after his hometown inOhio.The planetwas the site of ameticulousre-creationofhishometownasitwasinthelate1980s.Thatsayingabout how you can never go home again? Halliday had found a way.Middletown was one of his pet projects, and he’d spent years coding andrefining it. And it waswell known (to gunters, at least) that one of themostdetailedandaccuratepartsoftheMiddletownsimulationwasthere-creationofHalliday’sboyhoodhome.I’d never been able to visit it, but I’d seen hundreds of screenshots and

vidcaps of the place. Inside Halliday’s bedroom was a replica of his firstcomputer, a TRS-80 Color Computer 2. I was positive that was where he’dhiddentheFirstGate.AndthesecondlineoftextinscribedontheCopperKeytoldmehowtoreachit:OnthedeepestlevelofDaggorath.Dagorathwas aword inSindarin, theElvish language J.R.R.Tolkienhad

created for The Lord of the Rings. The word dagorath meant “battle,” butTolkienhadspelledthewordwithjustone“g,”nottwo.“Daggorath”(withtwo“g”s)couldreferonlytoonething:anincrediblyobscurecomputergamecalledDungeonsofDaggorathreleasedin1982.Thegamehadbeenmadeforjustoneplatform,theTRS-80ColorComputer.Hallidayhadwritten inAnorak’sAlmanac thatDungeons ofDaggorathwas

thegamethatmadehimdecidehewantedtobecomeavideogamedesigner.AndDungeonsofDaggorathwasoneofthegamessittingintheshoeboxnext

totheTRS-80inthere-creationofHalliday’schildhoodbedroom.So all I had to do was teleport toMiddletown, go to Halliday’s house, sit

down at his TRS-80, play the game, reach the bottom level of the dungeon,and…thatwaswhereI’dfindtheFirstGate.Atleast,thatwasmyinterpretation.Middletownwas inSectorSeven,a longwayfromLudus.But I’dcollected

morethanenoughgoldandtreasuretopayfortheteleportationfaretogetthere.Bymyavatar’spreviousstandards,Iwasnowfilthyrich.

I checked the time: 11:03 p.m., OST (OASIS Server Time, which alsohappenedtobeEasternStandardTime).IhadeighthoursbeforeIhadtobeatschool.Thatmightbeenoughtime.Icouldgoforit,rightnow.Sprintlikehell,backupthroughthedungeontothesurface,thenhightailitbacktothenearesttransport terminal.Fromthere,IcouldteleportdirectlytoMiddletown.IfI leftrightnow,IshouldbeabletoreachHalliday’sTRS-80inunderanhour.I knew I should get some sleep first. I’d been logged into the OASIS for

almost fifteen solid hours. And tomorrow was Friday. I could teleport toMiddletownrightafterschoolandthenI’dhavethewholeweekendtotackletheFirstGate.ButwhowasIkidding?TherewasnowayI’dbeabletosleeptonight,orsit

throughschooltomorrow.Ihadtogonow.Ibegantosprintfortheexit,butthenstoppedinthemiddleofthechamber.

Throughtheopendoor,Isawalongshadowbouncingonthewall,accompaniedbytheechoofapproachingfootsteps.Afewsecondslater,thesilhouetteofanavatarappearedinthedoorway.Iwas

abouttoreachformyswordwhenIrealizedIwasstillholdingtheCopperKeyinmyhand.Ishoveditintoapouchonmybeltandfumbledmyswordoutofitsscabbard.AsIraisedmyblade,theavatarspoke.

“Whothehellareyou?”thesilhouettedemanded.Thevoicesoundedlikeitbelongedtoayoungwoman.Onewhowasitchingforafight.WhenI failed toanswer,astockyfemaleavatarsteppedoutof theshadows

andintothechamber’sflickeringtorchlight.Shehadravenhair,styledJoan-of-Arc short, and appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties. As she gotcloser,IrealizedthatIknewher.We’dneveractuallymet,butIrecognizedherfacefromthedozensofscreenshotsshe’dpostedtoherblogovertheyears.ItwasArt3mis.Shewore a suit of scaled gunmetal-blue armor that lookedmore sci-fi than

fantasy.Twinblasterpistolswereslung lowonherhips inquickdrawholsters,and therewas a long, curved elvish sword in a scabbard across her back.SheworefingerlessRoadWarrior–styleracingglovesandapairofclassicRay-Banshades.Overall,sheseemedtobegoingforasortofmid-’80spostapocalypticcyberpunkgirl-next-door look.And itwasworking forme, in abigway. In aword:hot.Asshewalkedtowardme, theheelsofherstuddedcombatbootsclickedon

thestonefloor.Shehaltedjustoutofmysword’sreachbutdidnotdrawherownblade. Instead, she slid her shades up onto her avatar’s forehead—a blatantaffectation,sincesunglassesdidn’tactuallyaffectaplayer’svision—andlookedmeupanddown,makingashowofsizingmeup.For a moment I was too star-struck to speak. To break my paralysis, I

remindedmyselfthatthepersonoperatingtheavatarinfrontofmemightnotbeawomanatall.This“girl,”whomI’dbeencyber-crushingonforthepastthreeyears,mightverywellbeanobese,hairy-knuckledguynamedChuck.OnceI’dconjuredup that sobering image, Iwas able to focusonmy situation, and thequestion at hand:What was she doing here? After five years of searching, Ithought itwashighly improbable thatwe’dbothdiscovered theCopperKey’shidingplaceonthesamenight.Toobigofacoincidence.“Catgotyourtongue?”sheasked.“Isaid:Who.Thehell.Areyou?”

Likeher,Ihadmyavatar’snametagswitchedoff.Clearly,Iwantedtoremainanonymous,especiallyunderthecircumstances.Couldn’tshetakethehint?“Greetings,” I said, bowing slightly. “I am Juan Sánchez Villa-Lobos

Ramírez.”Shesmirked.“ChiefmetallurgisttoKingCharlestheFifthofSpain?”“Atyour service,” I replied,grinning.She’d caughtmyobscureHighlander

quoteandthrownanotherrightbackatme.ItwasArt3mis,allright.“Cute.”Sheglancedovermyshoulder,upattheemptydais,thenbackatme.

“So,spillit.Howdidyoudo?”“Doatwhat?”“JoustingagainstAcererak?”shesaid,asifitwereobvious.Suddenly,Iunderstood.Thiswasn’tthefirsttimeshe’dbeenhere.Iwasn’tthe

firstguntertodeciphertheLimerickandfindtheTombofHorrors.Art3mishadbeaten me to it. And since she knew about the Joust game, she’d obviouslyalready faced the lich herself. But if she already had the Copper Key, therewouldn’tbeanyreasonforhertocomebackhere.Sosheclearlydidn’thavethekeyyet.She’dfacedthelichatJoustandhe’dbeatenher.Soshe’dcomebacktotry again. For all I knew, this could be her eighth or ninth attempt. And sheobviouslyassumedthelichhadbeatenme,too.“Hello?”shesaid,tappingherrightfootimpatiently.“I’mwaiting?”I considered making a break for it. Just running right past her, back out

throughthelabyrinthanduptothesurface.ButifIran,shemightsuspectthatIhad the key and decide to try to kill me to get it. The surface of Luduswasclearlymarked as a safe zone on theOASISmap, so no player-versus-playercombatwasallowed.ButIhadnowayofknowingifthesamewastrueofthistomb,becauseitwasunderground,anditdidn’tevenappearontheplanetmap.Art3mislookedlikeaformidableopponent.Bodyarmor.Blasterpistols.And

thatelvishswordshewascarryingmightbevorpal.Ifevenhalfoftheexploitsshe’dmentionedonherblogweretrue,heravatarwasprobablyatleastfiftiethlevel.Orhigher.IfPvPcombatwaspermitteddownhere,she’dkickmytenth-levelass.SoIhadtoplaythiscool.Idecidedtolie.“Igotcreamed,”Isaid.“Joustisn’treallymygame.”Sherelaxedherpostureslightly.Thatseemedtobetheanswershewantedto

hear. “Yeah, same here,” she said in a commiserating tone. “Hallidayprogrammed oldKingAcererakwith some prettywickedAI, didn’t he?He’sinsanely hard to beat.” She glanced down at my sword, which I was stillbrandishingdefensively.“Youcanputthataway.I’mnotgonnabiteyou.”Ikeptmyswordraised.“IsthistombinaPvPzone?”

“Dunno.You’rethefirstavatarI’veeverrunintodownhere.”Shetiltedherheadslightlyandsmiled.“Isupposethere’sonlyonewaytofindout.”Shedrewhersword,lightningfast,andturnedintoaclockwisespin,bringing

itsglowingbladearoundanddownatme,allinasingleblurofmotion.Atthelast second, I managed to tilt my own blade upward to awkwardly parry theattack.Butbothofourswordshaltedinmidair,inchesapart,asifheldbackbysomeinvisible force.Amessageflashedonmydisplay:PLAYER-VERSUS-PLAYERCOMBATNOTPERMITTEDHERE!I breathed a sigh of relief. (I wouldn’t learn until later that the keys were

nontransferable.Youcouldn’tdroponeofthem,orgivethemtoanotheravatar.And if you were killed while holding one, it vanished right along with yourbody.)“Well,thereyouhaveit,”shesaid,grinning.“Thisisano-PvPzoneafterall.”

Shewhippedherswordaroundinafigure-eightpattern,thensmoothlyreplaceditinthescabbardonherback.Veryslick.Isheathedmyownswordtoo,butwithoutanyfancymoves.“Hallidaymust

nothavewantedanyonetoduelfortherighttojousttheking,”Isaid.“Yeah,”shesaid,grinning.“Luckyforyou.”“Luckyforme?”Ireplied,foldingmyarms.“Howdoyoufigure?”Shemotionedtotheemptydaisbehindme.“Youmustreallybehurtingforhit

pointsrightnow,afterfightingAcererak.”So…ifAcererakbeatyouatJoust,thenyouhadtofighthim.GoodthingI

won,Ithought.OrelseI’dprobablybecreatinganewavatarrightaboutnow.“I’vegothitpointsgalore,”Ifibbed.“Thatlichwasatotalwuss.”“Oh really?” she said suspiciously. “I’m fifty-second level, and he’s nearly

killedmeeverytimeI’vehadtofighthim.IhavetostockuponextrahealingpotionseverytimeIcomedownhere.”Sheeyedmeamoment,thensaid,“Ialsorecognize your sword and the armor you’rewearing.You got themboth righthereinthisdungeon,whichmeansthey’rebetterthanwhateveryouravatarhadbefore.Youlooklikealow-levelwimpazoidtome,JuanRamírez.AndIthinkyou’rehidingsomething.”Now that I knew she couldn’t attackme, I considered telling her the truth.

WhynotjustwhipouttheCopperKeyandshowittoher?ButIthoughtbetterofit.ThesmartmovenowwastosplitandheadstraightforMiddletownwhileIstillhadaheadstart.Shestilldidn’thavethekeyandmightnotgetitforseveralmoredays.IfIhadn’talreadyhadsomanyhoursofJoustpracticeundermybelt,GodknowshowmanyattemptsitwouldhavetakenmetobeatAcererak.“Thinkwhatyouwant,She-Ra,”Isaid,movingpasther.“MaybeI’llruninto

youoff-worldsometime.Wecandukeitoutthen.”Igaveherasmallwave.“See

ya’round.”“Wheredoyouthinkyou’regoing?”shesaid,followingme.“Home,”Isaid,stillwalking.“Butwhataboutthelich?AndtheCopperKey?”Shemotionedtotheempty

dais. “He’ll respawn in a few minutes. When the OASIS server clock hitsmidnight,thewholetombresets.Ifyouwaitrighthere,you’llgetanothershotatbeatinghim,withouthavingtomakeyourwaythroughallofthosetrapsagainfirst.That’swhyI’vebeencomingherejustbeforemidnight,everyotherday.SoIcangetintwoattemptsinarow,back-to-back.”Clever. If Ihadn’t succeededonmyfirst try, Iwonderedhowlong itwould

havetakenmetofigurethatout.“Ithoughtwecouldtaketurnsplayingagainsthim,”Isaid.“Ijustplayedhim,soit’llbeyourturnatmidnight,OK?ThenI’llcomebackaftermidnighttomorrow.Wecanalternatedaysuntiloneofusbeatshim.Soundfair?”“I suppose,” she said, studying me. “But you should stick around anyway.

Something different might happen if there are two avatars here at midnight.Anorakprobablypreparedforthatcontingency.Maybetwoinstancesofthelichwillappear,oneforeachofustoplay?Ormaybe—”“Iprefertoplayinprivate,”Isaid.“Let’sjusttaketurns,OK?”Iwasalmost

totheexitwhenshesteppedinfrontofme,blockingmypath.“Comeon,holdupasecond,”shesaid,hervoicesoftening.“Please?”I could have kept walking, right through her avatar. But I didn’t. I was

desperatetogettoMiddletownandlocatetheFirstGate,butIwasalsostandinginfrontofthefamousArt3mis,someoneI’dfantasizedaboutmeetingforyears.AndshewasevencoolerinpersonthanI’dimagined.Iwasdyingtospendmoretimewithher.Iwanted,asthe’80spoetHowardJoneswouldsay,togettoknowherwell.IfIleftnow,Imightneverrunintoheragain.“Listen,”shesaid,glancingatherboots.“Iapologizeforcallingyoua low-

levelwimpazoid.Thatwasnotcool.Iinsultedyou.”“It’sOK.Youwereright,actually.I’monlytenthlevel.”“Regardless,you’reafellowgunter.Andacleveronetoo,oryouwouldn’tbe

standinghere.So,IwantyoutoknowthatIrespectyou,andacknowledgeyourskills.AndIapologizeforthetrashtalk.”“Apologyaccepted.Noworries.”“Cool.”She looked relieved.Heravatar’s facial expressionswereextremely

realistic, which usually meant they were synched to those of their operatorinsteadofcontrolledbysoftware.Shemust’vebeenusinganexpensiverig.“Iwasjustalittlefreakedtofindyouhere,”shesaid.“Imean,Iknewsomeoneelsewouldfindthisplaceeventually.Justnotthisquickly.I’vehadthistomball to

myselfforawhilenow.”“Howlong?”Iasked,notreallyexpectinghertosay.She hesitated, then began to ramble. “Threeweeks!” she said, exasperated.

“I’vebeencominghereforthreefreakin’weeks,tryingtobeatthatstupidlichatthatasininegame!AndhisAI isridiculous!Imean,youknow.I’dneverevenplayedJoustbeforethis,andnowit’sdrivingmeoutofmygourd!IswearIwasthisclose tofinallybeatinghisassafewdaysago,butthen…”Sherakedherfingers through her hair in frustration. “Argh! I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. Mygradesaregoingdownthetubes,becauseI’vebeenditchingtopracticeJoust—”IwasabouttoaskifshewenttoschoolhereonLudus,butshecontinuedto

talk,fasterandfaster,asifafloodgatehadopenedinherbrain.Thewordsjustpouredoutofher.Shewasbarelypausingtobreathe.“—andIcameheretonight,thinkingthiswouldbethenightIfinallybeatthat

bastardandget theCopperKey,butwhen Igothere, I saw that someonehadalready uncovered the entrance. So I realizedmyworst fear had finally cometrue.Someoneelsehadfoundthetomb.SoIranallthewaydownhere,totallyfreakingout.Imean,Iwasn’ttooworried,becauseIdidn’tthinkanyonecouldpossiblybeatAcererakontheirfirst try,butstill—”Shepausedto takeadeepbreathandstoppedabruptly.“Sorry,” she said a second later. “I tend to ramble when I’m nervous. Or

excited. And right now I’m sort of both, because I’ve been dying to talk tosomeoneaboutallof this,butobviouslyIcouldn’t tellasoul,right?Youcan’tjustmentionincasualconversationthatyou—”Shecutherselfoffagain.“Man,I’msuchamotormouth!Ajabberjaw.Aflibbertigibbet.”Shemimedzippingherlips, locking them, and tossing away the imaginary key. Without thinking, Imimed grabbing the key out of the air and unlocking her lips. Thismade herlaugh—anhonest,genuinelaughthatinvolvedafairamountofsnorting,whichmademelaughtoo.Shewas so charming.Her geekydemeanor andhyperkinetic speechpattern

remindedmeofJordan,myfavoritecharacterinRealGenius.I’dneverfeltsuchaninstantconnectionwithanotherperson,intherealworldorintheOASIS.NotevenwithAech.Ifeltlight-headed.Whenshefinallygotherlaughterundercontrol,shesaid,“Ireallyneedtoset

upafiltertoeditoutthatlaughofmine.”“No,youshouldn’t,”Isaid.“It’saprettygreatlaugh,actually.”Iwaswincing

ateverywordcomingoutofmymouth.“Ihaveadorkylaughtoo.”Great,Wade,Ithought.Youjustcalledherlaugh“dorky.”Realsmooth.Butshejustgavemeashysmileandmouthedthewords“thankyou.”Ifeltasuddenurgetokissher.Simulationornot,Ididn’tcare.Iwasworking

upthecouragetoaskforhercontactcardwhenshestuckoutherhand.“Iforgottointroducemyself,”shesaid.“I’mArt3mis.”“Iknow,”Isaid,shakingherhand.“I’mactuallyahugefanofyourblog.I’ve

beenaloyalreaderforyears.”“Seriously?”Heravataractuallyseemedtoblush.Inodded.“It’sanhonortomeetyou,”Isaid.“I’mParzival.”IrealizedthatI

wasstillholdingherhandandmademyselfletgo.“Parzival, eh?” She tilted her head slightly. “Named after the knight of the

RoundTablewhofoundthegrail,right?Verycool.”Inodded,nowevenmoresmitten.Ialmostalwayshadtoexplainmynameto

people.“AndArtemiswastheGreekgoddessofthehunt,right?”“Right! But the normal spelling was already taken, so I had to use a leet

spelling,withanumberthreeinplaceofthe‘e.’”“Iknow,”Isaid.“Youmentionedthatonceonyourblog.Twoyearsago.”I

almostcitedthedateoftheactualblogentrybeforeIrealizeditwouldmakemesoundlikeevenmoreofacyber-stalkingsuper-creep.“Yousaidthatyoustillrunintonoobswhoprounounceit‘Art-three-miss.’”“That’sright,”shesaid,grinningatme.“Idid.”She stretched out a racing-gloved hand and offered me one of her contact

cards.Youcoulddesignyourcardtolooklikejustaboutanything.Art3mishadcoded hers to look like a vintage Kenner StarWars action figure (still in theblister pack). The figurewas a crude plastic rendering of her avatar,with thesameface,hair,andoutfit.Tinyversionsofhergunsandswordwereincluded.Hercontactinfowasprintedonthecard,abovethefigure:

Art3mis52ndLevelWarrior/Mage(VehicleSoldSeparately)

Onthebackofthecardwerelinkstoherblog,e-mail,andphoneline.Notonlywasthisthefirsttimeagirlhadevergivenmehercard,itwasalso,

byfar,thecoolestcontactcardIhadeverseen.“This is, by far, the coolest contact card I have ever seen,” I said. “Thank

you!”Ihandedheroneofmyowncards,whichI’ddesignedtolooklikeanoriginal

Atari2600Adventurecartridge,withmycontactinfoprintedonthelabel:

Parzival10thLevelWarrior

(UsewithJoystickController)“Thisisawesome!”shesaid,lookingitover.“Whatawickeddesign!”“Thanks,”Isaid,blushingundermyvisor.Iwantedtoproposemarriage.Iaddedhercardtomyinventory,anditappearedonmyitemlist,rightbelow

theCopperKey.Seeingthekeylistedtheresnappedmebacktoreality.Whatthehellwas Idoing,standingheremakingsmall talkwith thisgirlwhen theFirstGate was waiting for me? I checked the time. Less than five minutes untilmidnight.“Listen,Art3mis,”Isaid.“Itwastrulyawesometomeetyou.ButIgottaget

going.Theserverisabouttoreset,andIwanttoclearoutofherebeforeallofthosetrapsandundeadrespawn.”“Oh…OK.”Sheactuallysoundeddisappointed!“Ishouldprobablyprepare

for my Joust match anyway. But here, let me hit you with a Cure SeriousWoundsspellbeforeyougo.”Before I couldprotest, she laidahandonmyavatar’s chest andmuttereda

fewarcanewords.Myhit-point counterwasalreadyatmaximum, so the spellhadnoeffect.ButArt3misdidn’tknowthat.ShewasstillundertheassumptionthatI’dhadtofightthelich.“Thereyougo,”shesaid,steppingback.“Thanks,”Isaid.“Butyoushouldn’thave.We’recompetitors,youknow.”“Iknow.Butwecanstillbefriends,right?”“Ihopeso.”“Besides,theThirdGateisstillalongwayoff.Imean,ittookfiveyearsfor

the two of us to get this far. And if I knowHalliday’s game-design strategy,things are just going to get harder from here on out.” She lowered her voice.“Listen,areyousureyoudon’twanttostickaround?Ibetwecanbothplayatonce.WecangiveeachotherJoustingtips.I’vestartedtospotsomeflawsintheking’stechnique—”Now Iwas starting to feel like a jerk for lying toher. “That’s a reallykind

offer.ButIhavetogo.”Isearchedforaplausibleexcuse.“I’vegotschoolinthemorning.”She nodded, but her expression shifted back to one of suspicion. Then her

eyeswidened, as thoughan ideahad justoccurred toher.Herpupilsbegan todartaround,focusedonthespaceinfrontofher,andIrealizedshewaslookingsomethingup inabrowserwindow.Afewseconds later,her facecontorted inanger.“Youlyingbastard!”sheshouted.“Youdishonestsackofcrap!”Shemadeher

Web browser window visible to me and spun it around. It displayed the

ScoreboardonHalliday’swebsite.Inalltheexcitement,I’dforgottentocheckit.It lookedjustas ithadfor thepastfiveyears,withonechange.Myavatar’s

name now appeared at the very top of the list, in first place, with a score of10,000 points beside it. The other nine slots still containedHalliday’s initials,JDH,followedbyzeros.“Holy shit,” Imuttered.WhenAnorak had handedme theCopperKey, I’d

becomethefirstgunterinhistorytoscorepointsinthecontest.And,Irealized,since the Scoreboard was viewable to the entire world, my avatar had justbecomefamous.I checked the newsfeed headlines just to be sure.Every single one of them

containedmy avatar’s name. Stuff like:MYSTERIOUS AVATAR “PARZIVAL” MAKESHISTORYandPARZIVALFINDSCOPPERKEY.I stood there in adaze, forcingmyself tobreathe.ThenArt3misgavemea

shove,which,ofcourse,Ididn’tfeel.Shedidknockmyavatarbackwardafewfeet,though.“Youbeathimonyourfirsttry?”sheshouted.Inodded.“Hewonthefirstgame,butIwonthelasttwo.Justbarely,though.”“Shiiiiiit!” she screamed,clenchingher fists. “How in thehelldidyoubeat

himonyourfirsttry?”Igotthedistinctimpressionshewantedtosockmeintheface.“Itwaspureluck,”Isaid.“IusedtoplayJoustallthetimeagainstafriendof

mine. So I’d already had a ton of preparation. I’m sure if you’d had asmuchpractice—”“Please!”shegrowled,holdingupahand.“Donotpatronizeme,OK?”She

letoutwhatIcanonlydescribeasahowloffrustration.“Idon’tbelievethis!DoyourealizeI’vebeentryingtobeathimforfivegoddamnweeks!”“Butaminuteagoyousaiditwasthreeweeks—”“Don’tinterruptme!”Shegavemeanothershove.“I’vebeenpracticingJoust

nonstop for over a month now! I’m seeing flying ostriches in my goddamnsleep!”“Thatcan’tbepleasant.”“Andyoujustwalkinhereandnailitonthefirsttry!”Shestartedpounding

herfistintothecenterofherforehead,andIrealizedshewaspissedatherself,notme.“Listen,”Isaid.“Itreallywasluck.I’vegotaknackforclassicarcadegames.

That’smyspecialty.”Ishrugged.“StophittingyourselflikeRainMan,OK?”Shestoppedandstaredme.Afterafewseconds,sheletoutalongsigh.“Why

couldn’titbeCentipede?OrMs.Pac-Man?OrBurgerTime?ThenI’dprobablyhavealreadyclearedtheFirstGatebynow!”“Well,Idon’tknowaboutthat,”Isaid.

Sheglaredatmeasecond,thengavemeadevilishsmile.Sheturnedtofacetheexitandbegantoexecuteaseriesofelaborategesturesintheairinfrontofherwhilewhisperingthewordsofsomeincantation.“Hey,”Isaid.“Holdonasec.Whatareyoudoing?”But I already knew. As she finished casting her spell, a giant stone wall

appeared, completely covering the chamber’s only exit. Shit! She’d cast aBarrierspell.Iwastrappedinsidetheroom.“Oh,comeon!”Ishouted.“Whydidyoudothat?”“Youseemedtobeinanawfulbighurrytogetoutofhere.Myguessisthat

when Anorak gave you the Copper Key, he also gave you some sort of clueabout the location of the FirstGate. Right? That’swhere you’re headed next,isn’tit?”“Yeah,”Isaid.Ithoughtaboutdenyingit,butwhatwasthepointnow?“Sounlessyoucannullifymyspell—and I’mbettingyoucan’t,Mr.Tenth-

LevelWarrior—thatbarrierwillkeepyouinhereuntiljustaftermidnight,whentheserver resets.Allof those trapsyoudisarmedonyourwaydownherewillreset.Thatshouldslowdownyourexitconsiderably.”“Yes,”Isaid.“Itwill.”“Andwhile you’re busymaking yourwayback up to the surface, I’ll have

anothershotatdefeatingAcererak.AndthistimeI’mgonnadestroyhim.ThenI’llberightbehindyou,mister.”I foldedmy arms. “If the king has been beating your ass for the past five

weeks,whatmakesyouthinkyou’refinallygoingtowintonight?”“Competitionbringsoutthebestinme,”shereplied.“Italwayshas.Andnow

I’vegotsomeseriouscompetition.”Iglancedoveratthemagicalbarriershe’dcreated.Shewasoverfiftiethlevel,

so it would remain in existence for the spell’s maximum duration: fifteenminutes.AllIcoulddowasstandthereandwaitforittodissipate.“You’reevil,youknowthat?”Isaid.Shegrinnedandshookherhead.“ChaoticNeutral,sugar.”Igrinnedbackather.“I’mstillgoingtobeatyoutotheFirstGate,youknow.”“Probably,”shesaid.“Butthisisjustthebeginning.You’llstillhavetoclear

it.Andtherearestilltwomorekeystofind,andtwomoregatestoclear.Plentyoftimeformetocatchupwithyou,andthenleaveyouinthedust,ace.”“We’llseeaboutthat,lady.”She motioned to the window displaying the Scoreboard. “You’re famous

now,”shesaid.“Yourealizewhatthatmeans,don’tyou?”“Ihaven’thadmuchtimetothinkaboutityet.”“Well, I have. I’ve been thinking about it for the past five weeks. Your

avatar’snameonthatScoreboardisgoingtochangeeverything.Thepublicwillbecomeobsessedwiththecontestagain,justlikewhenitfirstbegan.Themediaisalreadygoingberserk.Bytomorrow,Parzivalwillbeahouseholdname.”Thatthoughtmademealittlequeasy.“You could become famous in the realworld too,” she said. “If you reveal

yourtrueidentitytothemedia.”“I’mnotanidiot.”“Good.Becausetherearebillionsofdollarsupforgrabs,andnoweveryoneis

going to assumeyouknowhowandwhere to find the egg.There are a lot ofpeoplewhowouldkillforthatinformation.”“Iknowthat,”Isaid.“AndIappreciateyourconcern.ButI’llbefine.”ButIdidn’tfeelfine.Ihadn’treallyconsideredanyofthis,maybebecauseI’d

neverreallybelievedIwouldactuallybeinthisposition.Westoodthereinsilence,watchingtheclockandwaiting.“Whatwouldyou

doifyouwon?”shesuddenlyasked.“Howwouldyouspendallthatmoney?”I had spent a lot of time thinking about that. I daydreamed about it all the

time.AechandIhadmadeabsurdlistsofthingswewoulddoandbuyifwewontheprize.“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“Theusual,Iguess.Moveintoamansion.Buyabunch

ofcoolshit.Notbepoor.”“Wow.Big dreamer,” she said. “And after you buy yourmansion and your

‘coolshit,’whatwillyoudowiththehundredandthirtybillionyou’llhaveleftover?”NotwantinghertothinkIwassomeshallowidiot,Iimpulsivelyblurtedout

what I’d always dreamed of doing if I won. It was something I’d never toldanyone.“I’d have a nuclear-powered interstellar spacecraft constructed in Earth’s

orbit,” I said. “I’d stock it with a lifetime supply of food and water, a self-sustainingbiosphere,andasupercomputerloadedwitheverymovie,book,song,videogame,andpieceofartworkthathumancivilizationhasevercreated,alongwith a stand-alone copy of the OASIS. Then I’d invite a few of my closestfriendstocomeaboard,alongwithateamofdoctorsandscientists,andwe’dallget the hell out of Dodge. Leave the solar system and start looking for anextrasolarEarthlikeplanet.”Ihadn’tthoughtthisplanallthewaythroughyet,ofcourse.Istillhadalotof

detailstoworkout.She raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty ambitious,” she said. “But you do

realizethatnearlyhalfthepeopleonthisplanetarestarving,right?”Idetectednomaliceinhervoice.ShesoundedlikeshegenuinelybelievedImightnotbe

awareofthisfact.“Yes,Iknow,”Isaiddefensively.“Thereasonsomanypeoplearestarvingis

becausewe’vewrecked theplanet.TheEarth isdying,youknow?It’s time toleave.”“That’saprettynegativeoutlook,”shesaid.“IfIwinthatdough,I’mgoingto

make sure everyone on this planet has enough to eat. Once we tackle worldhunger,thenwecanfigureouthowtofixtheenvironmentandsolvetheenergycrisis.”Irolledmyeyes.“Right,”Isaid.“Andafteryoupulloffthatmiracle,youcan

geneticallyengineerabunchofSmurfsandunicorns to frolicaround thisnewperfectworldyou’vecreated.”“I’mbeingserious,”shesaid.“Youreallythinkit’sthatsimple?”Isaid.“Thatyoucanjustwriteacheckfor

twohundredandfortybilliondollarsandfixalltheworld’sproblems?”“Idon’tknow.Maybenot.ButI’mgonnagiveitashot.”“Ifyouwin.”“Right.IfIwin.”Justthen,theOASISserverclockstruckmidnight.Webothknewthesecond

ithappened,because the thronereappearedatop thedais,alongwithAcererak.Hesattheremotionless,lookingjustlikehedidwhenI’dfirstenteredtheroom.Art3misglancedupathim,thenbackatme.Shesmiledandgavemeasmall

wave.“I’llseeyouaround,Parzival.”“Yeah,”Ireplied.“Seeya.”Sheturnedandbegantowalktowardthedais.I

calledafterher.“Hey,Art3mis?”Sheturnedback.ForsomereasonIfeltcompelledtohelpher,eventhoughI

knew I shouldn’t. “Try playing on the left side,” I said. “That’s how Iwon. Ithinkhemightbeeasiertobeatifhe’splayingthestork.”Shestaredatmeforasecond,possiblytryingtogaugewhetherIwasmessing

withher.Thenshenoddedandascendedthedais.Acererakcametolifeassoonasshesetfootonthefirststep.“Greetings,Art3mis,”hisvoiceboomed.“Whatisitthatyouseek?”Icouldn’thearherreply,butafewsecondslaterthethronetransformedinto

theJoustgame,justasithadearlier.Art3missaidsomethingtothelichandthetwoofthemswitchedsides,sothatshewasontheleft.Thentheybegantoplay.I watched them play from a distance until a few minutes later, when her

Barrierspelldissipated.IcastonelastglanceupatArt3mis,thenthrewopenthedoorandranout.

Ittookmealittleoveranhourtomakemywaybackthroughthetombandup to the surface.The instant I crawledoutside, aMESSAGESWAITING indicatorbegantoflashonmydisplay.IrealizedthenthatHallidayhadplacedthetombinsideanull-communicationzone,sonoonecouldreceivecalls,texts,ore-mailwhile they were inside. Probably to prevent gunters from calling for help oradvice.IcheckedmymessagesandsawthatAechhadbeentryingtoreachmesince

themomentmy name appeared on the Scoreboard. He’d called over a dozentimesandhadalsosentseveraltextmessagesaskingmewhatinthesweetnameofChristwasgoingonandscreamingatmeinALLCAPStocallhimbackrightnow. Just as I’d finisheddeleting thesemessages, I receivedanother incomingcall.ItwasAechtryingonceagaintoreachme.Idecidednottopickup.Instead,Isenthimashorttextmessage,promisingtocallassoonasIcould.AsIranoutoftheforest,IkepttheScoreboardupinthecornerofmydisplay

soI’dknowimmediatelyifArt3miswonherJoustmatchandobtainedthekey.WhenIfinallyreachedthetransportterminalandjumpedintothenearestbooth,itwasjustaftertwoo’clockinthemorning.Ienteredmydestinationonthebooth’stouchscreen,andamapofMiddletown

appeared on the display. I was prompted to select one of the planet’s 256transportterminalsasmyarrivalpoint.When Halliday had createdMiddletown, he hadn’t placed just a single re-

creationofhishometownthere.He’dmade256identicalcopiesofit,spreadoutevenlyacrosstheplanet’ssurface.Ididn’tthinkitwouldmatterwhichcopyofhishometownIwent to, so I selectedoneat random,near theequator.Then ItappedCONFIRMtopaythefare,andmyavatarvanished.Amillisecondlater,Iwasstandinginsideavintage1980sphoneboothlocated

insideanoldGreyhoundbusstation.Iopenedthedoorandsteppedout.Itwaslikesteppingoutofatimemachine.SeveralNPCsmilledaround,alldressedinmid-1980sattire.Awomanwithagiantozone-depletinghairdobobbedherhead

toanoversizeWalkman.AkidinagrayMembersOnlyjacketleanedagainstthewall, working on a Rubik’s Cube. AMohawked punk rocker sat in a plasticchair,watchingaRiptidererunonacoin-operatedtelevision.I locatedtheexitandheadedfor it,drawingmyswordasIwent.Theentire

surfaceofMiddletownwasaPvPzone,soIhadtoproceedwithcaution.Shortly after the Hunt began, this planet had turned into Grand Central

Station, and all 256 copies of Halliday’s hometown had been scoured andransackedbyanendlessparadeofgunters,allsearchingforkeysandclues.Thepopular theory on themessage boardswas that Halliday had createdmultiplecopiesofhishometownsothatseveralavatarscouldsearchitatthesametimewithout fighting over a single location. Of course, all of this searching hadyieldedabigfatdoughnut.Nokeys.Noclues.Noegg.Sincethen,interestintheplanet hadwaned dramatically. But some gunters probably still came here onoccasion.IftherewasalreadyanothergunterinsideHalliday’shousewhenIgotthere,

myplanwastomakearunforit,thenstealacaranddrivetwenty-fivemiles(inanydirection)tothenextidenticalcopyofMiddletown.Andthenthenext,untilIfoundaninstanceofHalliday’shousethatwasunoccupied.Outsidethebusstation,itwasabeautifulMidwesternday.Thereddishorange

sunhoveredlowinthesky.EventhoughI’dneverbeentoMiddletownbefore,I’ddoneextensiveresearchonit,soIknewHallidayhadcodedtheplanetsothatnomatterwhenyouvisitedorwhereyouwereon thesurface, itwasalwaysaperfectlate-autumnafternoon,circa1986.Ipulledupamapofthetownandtracedaroutefrommycurrentlocationto

Halliday’schildhoodhome.Itwasaboutamiletothenorth.Ipointedmyavatarin that direction and began to run. Looking around, I was astounded at thepainstakingattentiontodetail.I’dreadthatHallidayhaddoneallofthecodinghimself,drawingonhismemories to re-createhishometownexactlyas itwasduringhischildhood.He’dusedoldstreetmaps,phonebooks,photographs,andvideo footage for reference, to make everything as authentic and accurate aspossible.TheplaceremindedmealotofthetowninthemovieFootloose.Small,rural,

andsparselypopulated.Thehousesall seemed incrediblybigandwereplacedridiculously far apart. It astoundedme that fiftyyearsago, even lower-incomefamilies had an entire house to themselves. The NPC citizens all looked likeextras fromaJohnCougarMellencampvideo. I sawpeopleout raking leaves,walkingdogs,andsittingonporches.Outofcuriosity,Iwavedatafewofthemandgotafriendlywaveinreturneverytime.Clues as to the time period were everywhere. NPC-piloted cars and trucks

cruisedslowlyupanddowntheshadystreets,allofthemgas-guzzlingantiques:Trans-Ams,DodgeOmnis, IROCZ28s, andK-cars. Ipasseda service station,andthesignsaidgasolinewasonlyninety-threecentsagallon.IwasabouttoturndownHalliday’sstreetwhenIheardafanfareoftrumpets.

MyeyesshotovertotheScoreboardwindow,stillhoveringinthecornerofmydisplay.Art3mishaddoneit.Hernamenowappeareddirectlybelowmine.Herscorewas9,000points—a

thousandpoints less thanmine.ItappearedthatI’dreceivedabonusforbeingthefirstavatartoobtaintheCopperKey.The full ramifications of the Scoreboard’s existence occurred tome for the

first time.Fromhere onout, itwould not only allowgunters to keep trackofeach other’s progress, it would also show the entire world who the currentfrontrunnerswere,creatinginstantcelebrities(andtargets)intheprocess.Iknew,atthatexactmoment,Art3mismustbestaringdownatherowncopy

oftheCopperKey,readingtheclueengravedonitssurface.Iwassureshe’dbeabletodecipheritjustasquicklyasIhad.Infact,shewasprobablyalreadyonherwaytoMiddletownrightnow.Thatgotmemovingagain.Inowhadonlyanhour’sheadstartonher.Maybe

less.When I reachedClevelandAvenue, the streetonwhichHallidayhadgrown

up, I sprinted down the cracked sidewalk to the front steps of his childhoodhome.ItlookedjustlikethephotographsI’dseen:amodesttwo-storycolonialwith redvinyl siding.Two late-’70sFordsedanswereparked in thedriveway,oneofthemuponcinderblocks.LookingatthereplicaHallidayhadcreatedofhisoldhouse,Itriedtoimagine

what it had been like for him to grow up there. I’d read that in the realMiddletown,Ohio, every house on this street had been demolished in the late’90s tomake room for a stripmall.ButHallidayhadpreservedhis childhoodforever,hereintheOASIS.Iranupthewalkwayandenteredthroughthefrontdoor,whichopenedinto

the living room. I knew this room well, because it appeared in Anorak’sInvitation. I recognized the simulated wood-grain paneling, the burnt orangecarpet,andgarishfurniturethatlookedlikeithadbeenscavengedfromseveraldisco-erayardsales.Thehousewasempty.Forwhateverreason,Hallidayhaddecidednottoplace

NPC re-creations of himself or his deceased parents here. Perhaps thatwouldhavebeentoocreepy,evenforhim.However,Ididspotafamiliarfamilyphotoonthelivingroomwall.ThisportraithadbeentakenatthelocalKmartin1984,

butMr.andMrs.Hallidaywerestilldressedinlate-’70sfashions.Twelve-year-old Jimmy stood between them, glowering at the camera from behind thickeyeglasses.TheHallidays lookedlikeanordinaryAmericanfamily.Therewasnohintthatthestoicmaninthebrownleisuresuitwasanabusivealcoholic,thatthesmilingwomaninthefloralpantsuitwasbipolar,orthattheyoungboyinthefadedAsteroidsT-shirtwouldonedaycreateanentirelynewuniverse.Lookingaround,IwonderedwhyHalliday,whoalwaysclaimedtohavehada

miserable childhood, had later become so nostalgic for it. I knew that if andwhen I finally escaped from the stacks, I’d never look back.And I definitelywouldn’tcreateadetailedsimulationoftheplace.IglancedoveratthebulkyZenithtelevisionandtheAtari2600connectedto

it.ThesimulatedwoodgrainontheAtari’splasticcasingperfectlymatchedthesimulatedwood grain on the television cabinet and on the living roomwalls.BesidetheAtariwasashoeboxcontainingninegamecartridges:Combat,SpaceInvaders,Pitfall,Kaboom!,StarRaiders,TheEmpireStrikesBack,Starmaster,Yars’Revenge,andE.T.GuntershadattachedalargeamountofsignificancetotheabsenceofAdventure,thegameHallidaywasseenplayingonthisverysameAtari at the end of Anorak’s Invitation. People had searched the entireMiddletown simulation for a copy of it, but there didn’t appear to be oneanywhere on thewhole planet.Gunters had brought copies ofAdventure herefromotherplanets,butwhen they tried toplay themonHalliday’sAtari, theyneverworked.Sofar,noonehadbeenabletofigureoutwhy.Ididaquicksearchof therestof thehouseandmadesurenootheravatars

werepresent.ThenIopenedthedoorofJamesHalliday’sroom.Itwasempty,soIsteppedinsideandlockedthedoor.Screenshotsandsimcapsofthisroomhadbeenavailableforyears,andI’dstudiedallofthemclosely.Butthiswasmyfirsttimestandinginsidethe“realthing.”Igotchills.The carpet was a horrendousmustard color. Sowas thewallpaper. But the

walls were almost entirely covered with movie and rock band posters: RealGenius,WarGames,Tron,PinkFloyd,Devo,Rush.Abookshelfstoodjustinsidethedoor,overflowingwithscience-fictionandfantasypaperbacks(all titlesI’dread,ofcourse).Asecondbookshelfbythebedwascrammedtocapacitywithold computer magazines and Dungeons & Dragons rule books. Several longboxesofcomicbookswerestackedagainstthewall,eachcarefullylabeled.Andthere on the battered wooden desk in the corner was James Halliday’s firstcomputer.Likemanyhomecomputersof itsera, itwashoused in thesamecaseas its

keyboard.TRS-80COLORCOMPUTER 2, 16K RAMwasprintedon a label above thekeys.Cablessnakedoutofthebackofthemachine,leadingtoanaudiocassette

recorder,asmallcolortelevision,adot-matrixprinter,anda300-baudmodem.Along listof telephonenumbers fordial-upbulletinboard systemswas taped tothedeskbesidethemodem.IsatdownandlocatedthepowerswitchforthecomputerandtheTV.Iheard

a crackle of static, followedby a lowhum, as theTVwarmedup.Amomentlater,theTRS-80’sgreenstart-upscreenappeared,andIsawthesewords:

EXTENDEDCOLORBASIC1.1COPYRIGHT(c)1982BYTANDYOK

Belowthiswasaflashingcursor,cyclingthrougheverycolorofthespectrum.

ItypedHELLOandhittheEnterkey.?SYNTAXERRORappearedonthenextline.“Hello”wasn’tavalidcommandin

BASIC,theonlylanguagetheancientcomputerunderstood.IknewfrommyresearchthatthecassetterecorderfunctionedastheTRS-80’s

“tape drive.” It stored data as analog sound on magnetic audiotapes. WhenHallidayhadfirststartedprogramming,thepoorkidhadn’tevenhadaccesstoafloppydiskdrive.He’dhad to storehis codeoncassette tapes.A shoebox satbeside the tapedrive, filledwithdozensof thesecassettes.Mostof themweretext adventure games: Raaka-tu, Bedlam, Pyramid, and Madness and theMinotaur.Therewere also a fewROMcartridges,which fit into a slot on theside of the computer. I dug around in the box until I found a cartridge withDUNGEONSOFDAGGORATH printed incrookedyellow texton itsworn red label.The game’s artwork depicted a first-person view of a long dungeon corridorblockedbyahulkingbluegiantwithalargestoneax.When a list of the games found in Halliday’s bedroom had first appeared

online,I’dmadesuretodownloadandmastereverysingleoneofthem,soI’dalready solved Dungeons of Daggorath, about two years earlier. It had takenmostofaweekend.Thegraphicswerecrude,butevenso,thegamewasfunandincrediblyaddictive.I knew from reading the message boards that during the past five years,

several gunters had played and solved Dungeons of Daggorath right here onHalliday’sTRS-80.Somehadsolvedeverysinglegameintheshoebox,just toseeifanythingwouldhappen.Andnothinghad.ButnoneofthoseguntershadbeeninpossessionoftheCopperKey.Myhandswere tremblingslightlyas Ipoweredoff theTRS-80and inserted

theDungeonsofDaggorathcartridge.WhenIturnedthecomputerbackon,thescreenflashedtoblackandacrudegraphicofawizardappeared,accompanied

bysomeominoussoundeffects.Thewizardheldastaffinonehand,andbelowhim, printed in all capital letters, was the legend I DARE YE ENTER … THEDUNGEONSOFDAGGORATH!I laid my fingers on the keyboard and began to play. As soon as I did, a

jamboxsittingon topofHalliday’sdresser turned itselfon,andfamiliarmusicbegantoblastoutofit.ItwasBasilPoledouris’sscoreforConantheBarbarian.That must be Anorak’s way of letting me know I’m on the right track, I

thought.Iquickly lost trackof time. I forgot thatmyavatarwassitting inHalliday’s

bedroom and that, in reality, I was sitting in my hideout, huddled near theelectricheater,tappingattheemptyairinfrontofme,enteringcommandsonanimaginarykeyboard.Alloftheinterveninglayersslippedaway,andIlostmyselfinthegamewithinthegame.InDungeonsofDaggorath,youcontrolyouravatarbytypingincommands,

like TURN LEFT orGET TORCH, navigating yourway through amaze of vector-graphiccorridorswhile fightingoffspiders,stonegiants,blobs,andwraithsasyoudescenddeeperanddeeper,workingyourwaydownthroughthedungeon’sfiveincreasinglydifficultlevels.Ittookawhileforthecommandsandquirksofthegametocomebacktome,butoncetheydid,thegamewasn’tthatdifficulttosolve.Theabilitytosavemyplaceatanytimebasicallygavemeinfinitelives.(Althoughsavingandreloadinggamesfromthetapedriveprovedtobeaslowandtediousprocess.Itoftentookseveralattemptsandalotoffiddlingwiththecassettedeck’svolumeknob.)Savingmygamealsoallowedmeto logout forbathroombreaks,andtorechargemyspaceheater.While Iwasplaying, theConan theBarbarian score endedand the jambox

clickedoverandbegantoplaytheoppositesideofthetape,treatingmetothesynthesizer-laden score for Ladyhawke. I couldn’t wait to rub Aech’s nose inthat.Ireachedthelastlevelofthedungeonaroundfouro’clockinthemorningand

facedoffagainsttheEvilWizardofDaggorath.Afterdyingandreloadingtwice,Ifinallydefeatedhim,usinganElvishSwordandaRingofIce.Icompletedthegamebypickingupthewizard’smagicring,claimingitformyself.AsIdid,animageappearedon thescreen,showingawizardwithabrightstaronhisstaffandhisrobes.Thetextbelowread:BEHOLD!DESTINYAWAITSTHEHANDOFANEWWIZARD!I waited to see what would happen. For a moment, nothing did. Then

Halliday’sancientdot-matrixprintercametolifeandnoisilygroundoutasinglelineoftext.Thetractorfeedspooledthepageoutofthetopoftheprinter.Itorethesheetoffandreadwhatwasthere:

CONGRATULATIONS!YOUHAVEOPENEDTHEFIRSTGATE!Iglancedaroundandsawthattherewasnowawrought-irongateembedded

in thebedroomwall, in theexactspotwhere theWarGamesposterhadbeenasecondbefore.Inthecenterofthegatewasacopper-platedlockwithakeyhole.IclimbedupontopofHalliday’sdesksoIcouldreachthelock,thenslidthe

CopperKeyintothekeyholeandturnedit.Theentiregatebegantoglow,asifthemetalhadbecomesuperheated,anditsdoubledoorsswunginward,revealingafieldofstars.Itappearedtobeaportalintodeepspace.“MyGod,it’sfullofstars,”Iheardadisembodiedvoicesay.Irecognizeditas

asoundbitefromthefilm2010.ThenIheardalow,ominoushum,followedbyapieceofmusic from that film’sscore:“AlsoSprachZarathustra”byRichardStrauss.Ileanedforwardandlookedthroughtheportal.Leftandright,upanddown.

Nothing but an endless field of stars in all directions. Squinting, I could alsomakeoutafewtinynebulaeandgalaxiesinthedistance.Ididn’thesitate. I jumpedinto theopengate. Itseemedtopullmein,andI

began to fall.But I fell forward instead of down, and the stars seemed to fallwithme.

Ifoundmyselfstandinginanoldvideoarcade,playingGalaga.Thegamewasalreadyinprogress.Ihaddoubleshipsandascoreof41,780

points. I glanced down and saw that my hands were on the controls. After asecondortwoofdisorientation,Ireflexivelybegantoplay,movingthejoystickleftjustintimetoavoidlosingoneofmyships.Keepingoneeyeon thegame, I tried tomakesenseofmysurroundings. In

myperipheralvisionIwasabletomakeoutaDigDuggameonmyleftandaZaxxonmachine tomy right.Behindme, I could hear a cacophony of digitalcombatcomingfromdozensofothervintagearcadegames.Then,asIfinishedclearing thewave onGalaga, I noticedmy reflection in the game’s screen. Itwasn’tmyavatar’sfaceIsawthere.ItwasMatthewBroderick’sface.Ayoungpre–FerrisBuellerandpre-LadyhawkeMatthewBroderick.ThenIknewwhereIwas.AndwhoIwas.I was David Lightman, Matthew Broderick’s character in the movie

WarGames.Andthiswashisfirstsceneinthefilm.Iwasinthemovie.I tookaquickglancearoundandsawadetailedreplicaof20GrandPalace,

thecombinationarcade/pizzajointfeaturedinthefilm.Kidswithfeathered’80shairstyleswereclusteredaroundeachofthegames.Otherssatinbooths,eatingpizzaanddrinkingsodas.“VideoFever”bytheBeepersblastedoutofajukeboxin the corner. Everything looked and sounded exactly as it did in the movie.Halliday had copied every last detail from the film and re-created it as aninteractivesimulation.Holyshit.I’dspentyearswonderingwhatchallengesawaitedmeinsidetheFirstGate.

Never once had I imagined this. But I probably should have.WarGames hadbeenoneofHalliday’sall-timefavoritemovies.WhichwaswhyIhadwatcheditoverthreedozentimes.Well,that,andalsobecauseitwascompletelyawesome,with an old-school teenage computer hacker as the protagonist.And it looked

likeallofthatresearchwasabouttopayoff.NowIheardarepetitiveelectronicbeeping.Itseemedtobecomingfromthe

rightpocketofthejeansIwaswearing.Keepingmylefthandonthejoystick,Ireachedinmypocketandpulledoutadigitalwatch.Thereadoutsaid7:45a.m.WhenIpushedoneofthebuttonstosilencethealarm,awarningflashedinthecenterofmydisplay:DAVID,YOU’REGOINGTOBELATEFORSCHOOL!IusedavoicecommandtopullupmyOASISmap,hopingtolearnwherethe

gate had transported me. But it turned out that not only was I no longer onMiddletown, Iwasno longer in theOASISat all.My locator iconwas in themiddle of a blank screen, which meant I was OTM—off the map.When I’dsteppedintothegate,ithadtransportedmyavatarintoastand-alonesimulation,avirtuallocationseparatefromtheOASIS.ItseemedthattheonlywayIcouldgetbackwouldbe toclear thegatebycompleting thequest.But if thiswasavideogame, howwas I supposed to play it? If thiswas a quest,whatwasmygoal? I continued to play Galaga while pondering these questions. A secondlater,ayoungboywalkedintothearcadeandcameovertome.“Hi,David!”hesaid,hiseyesonmygame.I recognized this kid from the movie. His name was Howie. In the film,

MatthewBroderick’s character hands hisGalaga game off toHowiewhen herushesofftoschool.“Hi,David!”theboyrepeated,inthesameexacttone.Ashespokethistime,

hiswordsalsoappearedastext,superimposedacrossthebottomofmydisplay,likesubtitles.Belowthis,flashingred,werethewordsFINALDIALOGUEWARNING!Ibegantounderstand.Thesimulationwaswarningmethatthiswasmyfinal

chance todeliver thenext lineof dialogue from themovie. If I didn’t say theline,Icouldguesswhatwouldprobablyhappennext.GAMEOVER.ButIdidn’tpanic,becauseIknewthenextline.I’dseenWarGamessomany

timesthatIknewtheentirefilmbyheart.“Hi,Howie!”Isaid.ButthevoiceIheardinmyearphoneswasnotmyown.

ItwasMatthewBroderick’svoice.AndasIspoketheline,thewarningonmydisplayvanishedandascoreof100pointsappeared,superimposedatthetopofmydisplay.Irackedmybrain,tryingtomentallyreplaytherestofthescene.Thenextline

cametome.“How’sitgoing?”Isaid,andmyscorejumpedto200points.“Prettygood,”Howiereplied.I started to feel giddy. This was incredible. I was totally inside the movie.

Halliday had transformed a fifty-year-old film into a real-time interactivevideogame.Iwonderedhowlongithadtakenhimtoprogramthisthing.Anotherwarningflashedonmydisplay:YOU’REGOINGTOBELATEFORSCHOOL,

DAVID!HURRY!IsteppedawayfromtheGalagamachine.“Hey,youwannatakethisover?”I

askedHowie.“Sure,”hereplied,grabbingthecontrols.“Thanks!”Agreenpathappearedonthefloorofthearcade,leadingfromwhereIstood

to the exit. I started to follow it, then remembered to run back and grab mynotebookoffof theDigDuggame, just likeDavidhad in themovie.AsIdidthis,myscore jumpedanother100points,andACTIONBONUS! appearedonmydisplay.“Bye,David!”Howieshouted.“Bye!”Ishoutedback.Another100points.Thiswaseasy!Ifollowedthegreenpathoutof20GrandPalaceandupthebusystreetafew

blocks.Iwasnowrunningalongatree-linedsuburbanstreet.Iroundedacornerand saw that the path led directly to a large brick building.The sign over thedoorsaidSnohomishHighSchool—David’sschool,andthesettingofthenextfewscenesinthemovie.MymindwasracingasI ran inside. Ifall Ihadtodowasrattleoff linesof

dialoguefromWarGamesoncueforthenexttwohours,thiswasgoingtobeabreeze. Without even knowing it, I’d totally overprepared. I probably knewWarGamesevenbetterthanIknewRealGeniusandBetterOffDead.AsIrandowntheemptyschoolhallway,anotherwarningflashedinfrontof

me:YOU’RELATEFORYOURBIOLOGYCLASS!Icontinued tosprintat topspeed, following thegreenpath,whichwasnow

pulsingbrightly.Iteventually ledmeto thedoorofaclassroomonthesecondfloor. Through thewindow, I could see that classwas already in session. Theteacherwasupattheboard.Isawmyseat—theonlyemptyoneintheroom.ItwasrightbehindAllySheedy.Iopenedthedoorandtiptoedinside,buttheteacherspottedmerightaway.“Ah,David!Niceofyoutojoinus!”

MakingitallthewaytotheendofthemoviewoundupbeingalotharderthanIanticipated.Itonlytookmeaboutfifteenminutestofigureoutthe“rules”ofthegameandtosortouthowthescoringsystemworked.Iwasactuallyrequiredtodoa lotmorethansimplyrecitedialogue.Ialsohadtoperformall theactionsthatBroderick’s characterperformed in the film, in thecorrectwayandat thecorrectmoment.Itwaslikebeingforcedtoacttheleadingroleinaplayyou’dwatchedmanytimesbuthadneveractuallyrehearsed.Formostof themovie’s firsthour, Iwasonedge,constantly trying to think

ahead to have my next line of dialogue ready.Whenever I flubbed a line ordidn’tperformanactionattherightmoment,myscoredecreasedandawarningflashedonmydisplay.When Imade twomistakes in a row, a FINALWARNINGmessage appeared. Iwasn’t surewhatwouldhappen if I got three strikes in arow,butmyguesswasthatI’deitherbeexpelledfromthegateorthatmyavatarwouldsimplybekilled.Iwasn’teagertofindoutwhichitwouldbe.Whenever I correctly performed seven actions or recited seven lines of

dialogueinarow,thegamewouldawardmea“CueCardPower-Up.”Thenexttime Iblankedonwhat todoor say, I could select theCueCard iconand thecorrect action or line of dialogue would appear onmy display, sort of like ateleprompter.Duringscenesthatdidn’tinvolvemycharacter,thesimulationcuttoapassive

third-personperspective,andallIhadtodowassitbackandwatchthingsplayout,sortoflikewatchingacutsceneinanoldvideogame.Duringthesescenes,Icouldrelaxuntilmycharactercameon-screenagain.Duringoneofthesebreaks,ItriedtoaccessacopyofthemoviefrommyOASISconsole’sharddrive,withtheintentionofplayingitinawindowonmydisplaysoIcouldrefertoit.Butthesystemwouldn’tletme.Infact,IfoundthatIcouldn’topenanywindowsatall while inside the gate.When I tried, I got awarning:NO CHEATING. TRY TOCHEATAGAINANDIT’SGAMEOVER!Luckily, it turned out that I didn’t need any help. Once I’d collected the

maximumoffiveCueCardPower-UpsIbegantorelax,andthegameactuallystartedtobefun.Itwasn’thardtoenjoybeinginsideoneofmyfavoriteflicks.Afterawhile, IevendiscoveredthatIcouldearnbonuspointsbydeliveringalineintheexacttoneandwiththesameinflectionasinthefilm.I didn’t know it at the time, but I’d just become the first person to play an

entirely new type of videogame. When GSS got wind of the WarGamessimulation inside theFirstGate (and theydida short time later), thecompanyquicklypatentedtheideaandbegantobuyuptherightstooldmoviesandTVshows and convert them into immersive interactive games that they dubbedFlicksyncs. Flicksyncs became wildly popular. There turned out to be a hugemarket for games that allowed people to play a leading role in one of theirfavoriteoldmoviesorTVseries.By the time I reached the final scenes of the movie, I was starting to get

twitchy fromexhaustion. I’dnowbeenup forover twenty-fourhours straight,jacked in the entire time.The last action I had to performwas instructing theWOPR supercomputer to “play itself” at tic-tac-toe. Since every game theWOPR played ended in a tie, this had the improbable effect of teaching theartificiallyintelligentcomputerthatglobalthermonuclearwar,too,wasagame

in which “the only winningmove is not to play.” This prevented theWOPRfromlaunchingalloftheUnitedStates’ICBMsattheSovietUnion.I, David Lightman, a teenage computer geek from suburban Seattle, had

single-handedlypreventedtheendofhumancivilization.The NORAD command center erupted in celebration, and I waited for the

movie’sendcreditstoroll.Buttheydidn’t.Instead,allthecharactersaroundmevanished,leavingmealoneinthegiantwarroom.WhenIcheckedmyavatar’sreflection in a computermonitor, I saw that I no longer looked likeMatthewBroderick.I’dchangedbackintoParzival.IglancedaroundtheemptyNORADcommandcenter,wonderingwhatIwas

supposedtodonext.Thenallof thegiantvideodisplayscreensinfrontofmewent blank, and four lines of glowing green text appeared on them. It wasanotherriddle:

ThecaptainconcealstheJadeKeyinadwellinglongneglected

Butyoucanonlyblowthewhistleoncethetrophiesareallcollected

I stood there for a second, staring at the words in stunned silence. Then I

snappedoutofmydazeandquickly took several screenshotsof the text.As Iwas doing this, theCopperGate reappeared, embedded in a nearbywall. Thegatewasopen, and through it I could seeHalliday’sbedroom. Itwas theexit.Thewayout.I’ddoneit.I’dclearedtheFirstGate.Iglancedbackupat theriddleon theviewscreens. Ithad takenmeyears to

deciphertheLimerickandlocatetheCopperKey.Atfirstglance,thisnewriddleabouttheJadeKeylookedlikeitmighttakejustaslongtofigureout.Ididn’tunderstandawordofit.ButIwasalsodeadonmyfeet,andinnoconditionforfurtherpuzzle-solving.Icouldbarelykeepmyeyesopen.I jumped through theexit and landedwitha thudon the floorofHalliday’s

bedroom.WhenIturnedaroundandlookedatthewall,IsawthatthegatewasnowgoneandtheWarGamesposterhadreappearedinitsplace.I checkedmy avatar’s stats and saw that I’d been awarded several hundred

thousandexperiencepointsforclearingthegate,enoughtoraisemyavatarfromtenthleveluptotwentiethinoneshot.ThenIcheckedtheScoreboard:

HIGHSCORES:1.Parzival 110000

2.Art3mis 9000 3.JDH 0000000 4.JDH 0000000 5.JDH 0000000 6.JDH 0000000 7.JDH 0000000 8.JDH 0000000 9.JDH 0000000 10.JDH 0000000 My score had increased by 100,000 points, and a copper-colored gate icon

now appeared beside it. The media (and everyone else) had probably beenmonitoringtheScoreboardsincelastnight,sonowthewholeworldwouldknowthatI’dclearedtheFirstGate.Iwastooexhaustedtoconsidertheimplications.AllIcouldthinkaboutwas

sleep.Irandownstairsandintothekitchen.ThekeystotheHallidayfamilycarwere

onapegboardnext to therefrigerator. Igrabbedthemandrushedoutside.Thecar(theonethatwasn’tuponblocks)wasa1982FordThunderbird.Theenginestarted on the second try. I backed out of the driveway and drove to the busstation.Fromthere, I teleportedback to the transport terminalnext tomyschoolon

Ludus. Then I went to my locker and dumped all of my avatar’s newfoundtreasure,armor,andweaponsinsidebeforefinallyloggingoutoftheOASIS.WhenIpulledoffmyvisor,itwas6:17a.m.Irubbedmybloodshoteyesand

gazed around the dark interior ofmyhideout, trying towrapmyhead aroundeverythingthathadjusthappened.Isuddenlyrealizedhowcolditwasinthevan.I’dbeenusingthetinyspace

heateroffandonallnightandhaddrainedthebatteries.Iwaswaytootiredtogetontheexercisebikeandrechargethem.AndIdidn’thavetheenergytomakethetrekbacktomyaunt’strailer,either.Butthesunwouldbeupsoon,soIknewIcouldcrashthereinmyhideoutwithoutworryingthatIwouldfreezetodeath.Islidoffofmychairandontothefloor,thencurledupinmysleepingbag.As

I closed my eyes, I began to ponder the riddle of the Jade Key. But sleepswallowedmewholeafewsecondslater.I had a dream. Iwas standing alone in the center of a scorched battlefield,

with several different armies arrayed against me. An army of Sixers stood in

frontofme,andseveraldifferentgunterclanssurroundedmeonallotherflanks,brandishingswordsandgunsandweaponsofpowerfulmagic.I lookeddownatmybody.Itwasn’tParzival’sbody; itwasmyown.AndI

waswearingarmormadeofpaper.Inmyrighthandwasatoyplasticsword,andinmyleftwasalargeglassegg.ItlookedexactlyliketheglasseggthatcausesTomCruise’s character somuchgrief inRiskyBusiness, but somehow I knewthat,inthecontextofmydream,itwassupposedtobeHalliday’sEasteregg.AndIwasstandingthere,outintheopen,holdingitforalltheworldtosee.In unison, the armies ofmy enemies let out a fierce battle cry and charged

towardme.Theyconvergedonmypositionwithbaredteethandbloodintheireyes.Theywerecomingtotaketheegg,andtherewasnothingIcoulddotostopthem.IknewIwasdreaming,andsoIexpectedtowakeupbeforetheyreachedme.

ButIdidn’t.Thedreamcontinuedastheeggwasrippedfrommygrasp,andIfeltmyselfbeingtorntoshreds.

Isleptforovertwelvehoursandmissedschoolentirely.When I finallywoke up, I rubbedmy eyes and lay there in silence awhile,

trying to convince myself that the events of the previous day had actuallyoccurred. It all seemed like a dream to me now. Far too good to be real.Eventually,Igrabbedmyvisorandgotonlinetofindoutforsure.EverysinglenewsfeedseemedtobeshowingascreenshotoftheScoreboard.

Andmyavatar’snamewas thereat the top, in firstplace.Art3miswasstill insecondplace,butthescorebesidehernamehadnowincreasedto109,000,just1,000points less thanmine.And, likeme, shehada copper-coloredgate iconbesideherscorenowtoo.So she’d done it. While I’d slept, she’d deciphered the inscription on the

CopperKey.Thenshe’dgonetoMiddletown,locatedthegate,andmadeitallthewaythroughWarGames,justafewhoursafterIhad.Inolongerfeltquitesoimpressedwithmyself.I flipped past a few more channels before stopping on one of the major

newsfeednetworks,whereIsawtwomensittinginfrontofascreenshotoftheScoreboard.Theman on the left, somemiddle-aged intellectual type billed as“Edgar Nash, Gunter Expert” appeared to be explaining the scores to thenewsfeedanchorbesidehim.“—appears that the avatar namedParzival received slightlymore points for

being thefirst to find theCopperKey,”Nashsaid,pointing to theScoreboard.“Then, early this morning, Parzival’s score increased another one hundredthousandpoints, andaCopperGate iconappearedbesidehis score.The samechangeoccurredtoArt3mis’sscoreafewhourslater.Thisseemstoindicatethatbothofthemhavenowcompletedthefirstofthethreegates.”“The famous Three Gates that James Halliday spoke of in the Anorak’s

Invitationvideo?”theanchorsaid.“Theverysame.”“ButMr.Nash.Afterfiveyears,howisitthattwoavatarsaccomplishedthis

featonthesameday,withinjustafewhoursofeachother?”“Well, I think there’sonlyoneplausibleanswer.These twopeople,Parzival

andArt3mis,mustbeworkingtogether.They’reprobablybothmembersofwhatisknownasa‘gunterclan.’Thesearegroupsofegghunterswho—”I frowned and changed the channel, surfing the feeds until I saw an overly

enthusiastic reporter interviewing Ogden Morrow via satellite. The OgdenMorrow.“—joininguslivefromhishomeinOregon.Thanksforbeingwithustoday,

Mr.Morrow!”“No problem,”Morrow replied. It had been almost six years sinceMorrow

had last spoken to themedia,buthedidn’t seem tohaveagedaday.HiswildgrayhairandlongbeardmadehimlooklikeacrossbetweenAlbertEinsteinandSanta Claus. That comparison was also a pretty good description of hispersonality.Thereporterclearedhis throat,obviouslyabitnervous.“Letmestartoffby

askingwhat your reaction is to the events of the last twenty-four hours.WereyousurprisedtoseethosenamesappearonHalliday’sScoreboard?”“Surprised?Yes, a little, I suppose.But ‘excited’ is probably a betterword.

Like everyone else, I’ve been watching and waiting for this to happen. Ofcourse,Iwasn’tsureifI’dstillbealivewhenitfinallydid!I’mgladthatIam.It’sallveryexciting,isn’tit?”“Do you think these two gunters, Parzival and Art3mis, are working

together?”“Ihavenoidea.Isupposeit’spossible.”“Asyouknow,GregariousSimulationSystemskeepsallOASISuserrecords

confidential,sowehavenowayofknowingtheir trueidentities.Doyouthinkeitherofthemwillcomeforwardandrevealthemselvestothepublic?”“Not if they’re smart, theywon’t,”Morrowsaid, adjustinghiswire-rimmed

spectacles. “If I were in their shoes, I’d do everything possible to remainanonymous.”“Whydoyousaythat?”“Becauseonce theworlddiscoverswhotheyreallyare, they’llneverhavea

moment’s peace afterward. If people think you can help them findHalliday’segg,they’llneverleaveyoualone.Trustme,Iknowfromexperience.”“Yes, I suppose you do.”The reporter flashed a fake smile. “However, this

networkhascontactedbothParzivalandArt3misviae-mail,andwe’veextendedgenerousmonetaryoffers toeachof them in return foranexclusive interview,eitherintheOASISorhereintherealworld.”“I’m sure they’re receiving many such offers. But I doubt they’ll accept,”

Morrow said.Thenhe looked straight into the camera, and I felt as if hewasnow speakingdirectly tome. “Anyone smart enough to accomplishwhat theyhaveshouldknowbetterthantoriskeverythingbytalkingtothevulturesinthemedia.”The reporter chuckled uncomfortably. “Ah, Mr. Morrow … I really don’t

thinkthat’scalledfor.”Morrowshrugged.“Toobad.Ido.”Thereporterclearedhisthroatagain.“Well,movingon…Doyouhaveany

predictionsaboutwhatchangeswemightseeontheScoreboardintheweekstocome?”“I’mbettingthatthoseothereightemptyslotswillfillupprettyquickly.”“Whatmakesyouthinkso?”“Onepersoncankeepasecret,butnottwo,”hereplied,staringdirectlyinto

thecameraagain.“Idon’tknow.MaybeI’mwrong.ButIamsureofonething.TheSixersaregoingtouseeverydirtytrickattheirdisposaltolearnthelocationoftheCopperKeyandtheFirstGate.”“You’rereferringtotheemployeesofInnovativeOnlineIndustries?”“Yes.IOI.TheSixers.Theirsolepurposeistoexploitloopholesinthecontest

rulesandsubvert the intentionofJim’swill.Theverysoulof theOASIS isatstakehere.ThelastthingJimwouldhavewantedisforhiscreationtofallintothehandsofafascistmultinationalconglomeratelikeIOI.”“Mr.Morrow,IOIownsthisnetwork.…”“Of course they do!” Morrow shouted gleefully. “They own practically

everything! Includingyou, prettyboy! Imean, did they tattoo aUPCcodeonyourasswhentheyhiredyoutositthereandspouttheircorporatepropaganda?”Thereporterbegantostutter,glancingnervouslyatsomethingoffcamera.“Quick!”Morrowsaid.“YoubettercutmeoffbeforeIsayanythingelse!”He

brokeupintogalesoflaughterjustasthenetworkcuthissatellitefeed.Thereportertookafewsecondstoregroup,thensaid,“Thankyouagainfor

joiningustoday,Mr.Morrow.Unfortunatelythat’sallthetimewehavetospeakwith him. Now let’s go back to Judy, who is standing by with a panel ofrenownedHallidayscholars—”Ismiledandclosedthevidfeedwindow,ponderingtheoldman’sadvice.I’d

alwayssuspectedthatMorrowknewmoreaboutthecontestthanhewaslettingon.

MorrowandHallidayhadgrownuptogether,foundedacompanytogether,andchanged the world together. But Morrow had led a very different life from

Halliday’s—oneinvolvingamuchgreaterconnectiontohumanity.Andagreatdealmoretragedy.Duringthemid-’90s,backwhenGregariousSimulationSystemswasstilljust

GregariousGames,Morrowhadmovedinwithhishigh-schoolsweetheart,KiraUnderwood.Kirawasbornandraised inLondon. (HerbirthnamewasKaren,butshe’dinsistedonbeingcalledKiraeversinceherfirstviewingofTheDarkCrystal.)Morrowmetherwhenshespentherjunioryearasanexchangestudentat his high school. In his autobiography, Morrow wrote that she was the“quintessential geek girl,” unabashedly obsessed with Monty Python, comicbooks,fantasynovels,andvideogames.SheandMorrowsharedafewclassesatschool,andhewassmittenwithheralmostimmediately.Heinvitedhertoattendhis weekly Dungeons & Dragons gaming sessions (just as he’d done withHallidayafewyearsearlier),andtohissurprise,sheaccepted.“Shebecamethelonefemaleinourweeklygaminggroup,”Morrowwrote.“Andeverysingleoneoftheguysdevelopedamassivecrushonher, includingJim.Shewasactuallythe one who gave him the nickname ‘Anorak,’ a British slang term for anobsessivegeek.I thinkJimadopteditasthenameofhisDandDcharactertoimpressher.Ormaybeitwashiswayoftryingtoletherknowhewasinonthejoke.TheoppositesexmadeJimextremelynervous,andKirawastheonlygirlIever saw him speak to in a relaxed manner. But even then, it was only incharacter,asAnorak,during thecourseofourgamingsessions.AndhewouldonlyaddressherasLeucosia,thenameofherDandDcharacter.”OgdenandKirabegandating.Bytheendoftheschoolyear,whenitwastime

forhertoreturnhometoLondon,thetwoofthemhadopenlydeclaredtheirloveforeachother.Theykept in touchduring their remainingyearof schoolbye-mailingeveryday,usinganearlypre-InternetcomputerbulletinboardnetworkcalledFidoNet.Whentheybothgraduatedfromhighschool,KirareturnedtotheStates, moved in with Morrow, and became one of Gregarious Games’ firstemployees. (For the first twoyears, shewas their entireartdepartment.)Theygot engaged a fewyears after the launch of theOASIS.Theyweremarried ayearlater,atwhichtimeKiraresignedfromherpositionasanartisticdirectoratGSS. (She was amillionaire now too, thanks to her company stock options.)MorrowstayedonatGSSforfivemoreyears.Then,inthesummerof2022,heannounced he was leaving the company. At the time, he claimed it was for“personalreasons.”Butyearslater,Morrowwroteinhisautobiographythathe’dleftGSSbecause“wewerenolongerinthevideogamebusiness,”andbecausehe felt that theOASIShadevolved into somethinghorrible. “It hadbecomeaself-imposedprisonforhumanity,”hewrote.“Apleasantplacefortheworldtohidefromitsproblemswhilehumancivilizationslowlycollapses,primarilydue

toneglect.”Rumors also surfaced thatMorrowhad chosen to leave because he’d had a

huge falling-out with Halliday. Neither of themwould confirm or deny theserumors,andnooneseemed toknowwhatsortofdisputehadended their longfriendship.But sourceswithin the company said that at the time ofMorrow’sresignation, he and Halliday had not spoken to each other directly in severalyears.Evenso,whenMorrowleftGSS,hesoldhisentireshareofthecompanydirectlytoHalliday,foranundisclosedsum.Ogden and Kira “retired” to their home in Oregon and started a nonprofit

educational software company, Halcydonia Interactive, which created freeinteractiveadventuregames forkids. I’dgrownupplaying thesegames,allofwhich were set in the magical kingdom of Halcydonia.Morrow’s games hadtransportedmeoutofmygrimsurroundingsasa lonelykidgrowingup in thestacks.They’dalsotaughtmehowtodomathandsolvepuzzleswhilebuildingmyself-esteem.Inaway,theMorrowswereamongmyveryfirstteachers.For the next decade, Ogden and Kira enjoyed a peaceful, happy existence,

living and working in relative seclusion. They tried to have children, but itwasn’t in the cards for them.They’dbegun to consider adoptionwhen, in thewinterof2034,Kirawaskilledinacaraccidentonanicymountainroadjustafewmilesfromtheirhome.After that, Ogden continued to run Halcydonia Interactive on his own. He

managedtostayoutofthelimelightuntilthemorningofHalliday’sdeath,whenhis home was besieged by the media. As Halliday’s former closest friend,everyoneassumedhealonecouldexplainwhythedeceasedbillionairehadputhisentirefortuneupforgrabs.Morroweventuallyheldapressconferencejusttoget everyoneoffhisback. Itwas the last timehe’d spoken to themedia,untiltoday.I’dwatchedthevideoofthatpressconferencemany,manytimes.Morrowhadbegunitbyreadingabriefstatement,sayingthathehadn’tseen

orspokentoHallidayinoveradecade.“Wehadafalling-out,”hesaid,“andthatissomethingIrefusetodiscuss,noworinthefuture.Sufficeittosay,IhavenotcommunicatedwithJamesHallidayinovertenyears.”“ThenwhydidHallidayleaveyouhisvastcollectionofclassiccoin-operated

videogames?”areporterasked.“Allofhisothermaterialpossessionsaretobeauctionedoff.Ifyouwerenolongerfriends,whyareyoutheonlypersonheleftanythingto?”“Ihavenoidea,”Morrowsaidsimply.AnotherreporteraskedMorrowifheplannedonlookingforHalliday’sEaster

egghimself, sincehe’dknownHalliday sowell andwould thereforeprobablyhave a better chance than anyoneof finding it.Morrow reminded the reporter

thatthecontestruleslaidoutinHalliday’swillstatedthatnoonewhohadeverworked for Gregarious Simulation Systems, or anyone in their immediatefamilies,waseligibletotakepartinthecontest.“DidyouhaveanyideawhatHallidaywasworkingonallthoseyearshewas

inseclusion?”anotherreporterasked.“No. I suspectedhemightbeworkingon somenewgame. Jimwas always

workingonanewgame.Forhim,makinggameswasasnecessaryasbreathing.ButIneverimaginedhewasplanningsomething…ofthismagnitude.”“AsthepersonwhoknewJamesHallidaythebest,doyouhaveanyadvicefor

themillionsofpeoplewhoarenowsearchingforhisEasteregg?Wheredoyouthinkpeopleshouldstartlookingforit?”“I think Jim made that pretty obvious,” Morrow replied, tapping a finger

against his temple, just asHallidayhad in theAnorak’s Invitation video. “Jimalways wanted everyone to share his obsessions, to love the same things heloved.Ithinkthiscontestishiswayofgivingtheentireworldanincentivetodojustthat.”

I closedmy fileonMorrowandcheckedmye-mail.The system informedmethat I’d received over two million new unsolicited messages. These wereautomaticallyfiledinaseparatefolder,soIcouldsortthroughthemlater.Onlytwonewmessageswereleftinmyinbox,frompeopleonmyauthorizedcontactlist.OnewasfromAech.TheotherwasfromArt3mis.IopenedAech’smessagefirst.Itwasvidmail,andhisavatar’sfaceappeared

inawindow.“Holyshit!”heshouted.“Idon’tbelievethis!Nowyou’veclearedthe motherfucking First Gate and you still haven’t phoned me? Call my ass!Now!Thesecondyougetthis!”IconsideredwaitingafewdaystocallAechbackbutquicklyabandonedthat

idea.Ineededtotalktosomeoneaboutallthis,andAechwasmybestfriend.IftherewasanyoneIcouldtrust,itwashim.Hepickedupon the first ring,andhisavatarappeared inanewwindow in

frontofme.“Youdog!”heshouted.“Youbrilliant,sly,deviousdog!”“Hey,Aech,”Isaid,tryingtodeadpanit.“What’snew?”“What’snew?What’snew?Youmean,otherthan,youknow,seeingmybest

friend’snameappearatthetopoftheScoreboard?Otherthanthat,youmean?”Heleanedforwardsothathismouthcompletelyfilledthevidfeedwindowandshouted,“Otherthanthat,notmuch!Notmuchnewatall!”Ilaughed.“Sorryittookmeawhiletocallyou.Ihadkindofalatenight.”“No shit, youhada latenight!”he said. “Lookatyou!Howcanyoube so

calm!Don’tyourealizewhat thismeans?This ishuge!This isbeyondepic! Imean…congratu-freakin’-lations,man!”Hebegantobowrepeatedly.“Iamnotworthy!”“Cutitout,OK?It’sreallynotabigdeal.Ihaven’tactuallywonanythingyet.

…”“Notabigdeal!”hecried.“Not.A.Big.Deal?Areyoukiddingme?You’rea

legendnow,man!YoujustbecamethefirstgunterinhistorytofindtheCopperKey!AndcleartheFirstGate!Youareagod,fromthismomentforth!Doyounotrealizethis,fool?”“Seriously.Stopit.I’malreadyfreakedoutenoughasitis.”“Haveyouseen thenews?Thewholeworld is freakingout!Andthegunter

boardsaregoingapeshit!Andeveryoneistalkingaboutyou,amigo.”“Iknow.Listen,Ihopeyou’renotpissedatmeforkeepingyouinthedark.I

feltreallyweirdaboutnotreturningyourcallsortellingyouwhatIwasupto.…”“Oh,comeon!”Herolledhiseyesdismissively.“Youknowdamnwellthatif

I’dbeeninyourshoes,Iwouldhavedonethesamething.That’showthegameisplayed.But”—histonegrewmoreserious—“IamcurioustoknowhowthatArt3mischickhappenedtofindtheCopperKeyandclearthegaterightafteryoudid.Everyoneseemstothinkyoutwowereworkingtogether,butIknowthat’shorseshit.Sowhathappened?Wasshefollowingyouorsomething?”I shookmy head. “No, she found the key’s hiding place before I did. Last

month,shesaid.Shejustwasn’tabletoobtainthekeyuntilnow.”Iwassilentforasecond.“Ican’treallygointothedetailswithout,youknow—”Aechheldupbothhands.“Noworries.Itotallyunderstand.Iwouldn’twant

foryoutoaccidentallydropanyhints.”HeflashedhistrademarkCheshiregrin,and his gleaming white teeth seemed to take up half of the vidfeed window.“Actually,IshouldletyouknowwhereIamrightnow.…”He adjusted his vidfeed’s virtual camera so that it pulled back from a tight

shotofhisfacetoamuchwidershotthatrevealedwherehewas—standingnexttotheflat-toppedhill,justoutsidetheentrancetotheTombofHorrors.Myjawdropped.“Howinthehell—?”“Well,whenIsawyournamealloverthenewsfeedslastnight,itoccurredto

methatforaslongasI’veknownyou,you’veneverhadthedoughtodomuchtraveling.Anytraveling,really.SoIfiguredthatifyou’dfoundthehidingplaceoftheCopperKey,itprobablyhadtobesomewhereclosetoLudus.OrmaybeevenonLudus.”“Welldone,”Isaid,andImeantit.“Notreally.Ispenthoursrackingmypea-sizedbrainbeforeIfinallythought

to search themap of Ludus for the surface features described in theTomb ofHorrorsmodule.ButonceIdid,everythingelseclickedintoplace.AndhereIam.”“Congratulations.”“Yeah,well,itwasprettyeasyonceyoupointedmeintherightdirection.”He

glancedbackoverhisshoulderatthetomb.“I’vebeensearchingforthisplaceforyears,andall this time itwaswithinwalkingdistanceofmyschool! I feellikeatotalmoronfornotfiguringitoutonmyown.”“You’re not amoron,” I said. “You deciphered the Limerick on your own,

otherwiseyouwouldn’tevenknowabouttheTombofHorrorsmodule,right?”“So,you’renotpissed?”hesaid.“ThatItookadvantageofmyinsideinfo?”Ishookmyhead.“Noway.Iwouldhavedonethesamething.”“Well,regardless,Ioweyouone.AndIwon’tforgetit.”Inoddedtowardthetombbehindhim.“Haveyoubeeninsideyet?”“Yeah.Icamebackupheretocallyou,whileIwaitfortheservertoresetat

midnight.The tomb isempty rightnow,becauseyour friend,Art3mis,alreadyblewthroughhereearliertoday.”“We’renotfriends,”Isaid.“Shejustshowedup,afewminutesafterIgotthe

key.”“Didyouguysthrowdown?”“No.Thetombisano-PvPzone.”Iglancedat thetime.“Lookslikeyou’ve

stillgotafewhourstokillbeforethereset.”“Yeah. I’ve been studying the original D and D module, trying to prepare

myself,”hesaid.“Wannagivemeanytips?”Igrinned.“No.Notreally.”“Didn’tthinkso.”Hewassilentforafewseconds.“Listen,Ihavetoaskyou

something,”hesaid.“Doesanyoneatyourschoolknowyouravatar’sname?”“No.I’vebeencarefultokeepitasecret.NoonethereknowsmeasParzival.

Noteventheteachers.”“Good,” he said. “I took the same precaution.Unfortunately, several of the

gunterswhofrequenttheBasementknowthatwebothattendschoolonLudus,so theymightbeable toconnect thedots. I’mworriedaboutone inparticular.…”Ifeltarushofpanic.“I-r0k?”Aechnodded.“He’sbeencallingmenonstopsinceyournameappearedonthe

Scoreboard,askingwhatIknow.Iplayeddumb,andheseemedtobuyit.ButifmynameshowsupontheScoreboardtoo,youcanbethe’llstartbraggingthatheknowsus.Andwhenhe starts tellingothergunters thatyouand I arebothstudentsonLudus—”

“Shit!”Icursed.“TheneverygunterinthesimwillbeheadedheretosearchfortheCopperKey.”“Right,” Aech said. “And before long, the location of the tomb will be

commonknowledge.”Isighed.“Well,thenyoubettergetthekeybeforethathappens.”“I’lldomybest.”HeheldupacopyoftheTombofHorrorsmodule.“Now,if

you’llexcuseme,I’mgoingtorereadthisthingforthehundredthtimetoday.”“Goodluck,Aech,”Isaid.“Givemeacallonceyou’veclearedthegate.”“IfIclearthegate…”“Youwill,” I said. “Andwhen you do,we shouldmeet in theBasement to

talk.”“Yougotit,amigo.”Hewaved good-bye andwas about to end the callwhen I spoke up. “Hey,

Aech?”“Yeah?”“You might want to brush up on your jousting skills,” I said. “You know,

betweennowandmidnight.”Helookedpuzzledforamoment;thenasmileofunderstandingspreadacross

hisface.“Igotya,”hesaid.“Thanks,pal.”“Goodluck.”Ashisvidfeedwindowwinkedout,IfoundmyselfwonderinghowAechandI

wouldremainfriendsthrougheverythingthatlayahead.Neitherofuswantedtoworkasateam,sofromhereonoutwewouldbeindirectcompetitionwitheachother.WouldIeventuallyregrethelpinghimtoday?Orcometoresent that I’dunwittinglyledhimtotheCopperKey’shidingplace?Ipushedthesethoughtsasideandopenedthee-mailfromArt3mis.Itwasan

old-fashionedtextmessage.

DearParzival,

Congrats!See?You’re famousnow, just like I said.Although it lookslikewe’vebothbeenthrustintothelimelight.Kindascary,eh?

Thanks for the tip about playing on the left side. You were right.Somehow, thatdid the trick.Butdon’tgo thinking Ioweyouany favors,mister.:-)

TheFirstGatewasprettywild,wasn’tit?NotatallwhatIexpected.Itwould have been cool if Halliday had given me the option to play Ally

Sheedyinstead,butwhatcanyoudo?

Thisnewriddleisarealhead-scratcher,isn’tit?Ihopeitdoesn’ttakeusanotherfiveyearstodecipherit.

Anyhow,Ijustwantedtosaythatitwasanhonortomeetyou.Ihopeourpathscrossagainsoon.

Sincerely,

Art3mis

ps—Enjoybeing#1whileyoucan,pal.Itwon’tlastforlong.I rereadhermessageseveral times,grinning likeadopeyschoolboy.Then I

typedoutmyreply:

DearArt3mis,

Congratulations toyou, too.Youweren’tkidding.Competitionclearlybringsoutthebestinyou.

You’rewelcome for the tipaboutplayingon the left.You totallyowemeafavornow.;-)

The new riddle is a cinch. I think I’ve already got it figured out,actually.What’sthehold-uponyourend?

Itwasanhonortomeetyou,too.Ifyoueverfeellikehangingoutinachatroom,letmeknow.

MTFBWYA,

Parzival

ps—Areyouchallengingme?Bringthepain,woman.Afterrewritingitafewdozentimes,ItappedtheSendbutton.ThenIpulled

up my screenshot of the Jade Key riddle and began to study it, syllable bysyllable.ButIcouldn’tseemtoconcentrate.NomatterhowhardItriedtofocus,mymindkeptdriftingbacktoArt3mis.

AechclearedtheFirstGateearlythenextday.HisnameappearedontheScoreboardinthirdplace,withascoreof108,000

points.ThevalueofobtainingtheCopperKeyhaddroppedanother1,000pointsforhim,butthevalueofclearingtheFirstGateremainedunchangedat100,000.Ireturnedtoschoolthatsamemorning.I’dconsideredcallinginsick,butwas

concernedthatmyabsencemightraisesuspicions.WhenIgotthere,IrealizedIshouldn’t haveworried.Due to the sudden renewed interest in theHunt, overhalfofthestudentbody,andquiteafewoftheteachers,didn’tbothershowingup.SinceeveryoneatschoolknewmyavatarbythenameWade3,noonepaidany attention to me. Roaming the halls unnoticed, I decided that I enjoyedhaving a secret identity. It made me feel like Clark Kent or Peter Parker. Ithoughtmydadwouldprobablyhavegottenakickoutofthat.Thatafternoon,I-r0ksente-mailstoAechandme,attemptingtoblackmailus.

Hesaidthatifwedidn’ttellhimhowtofindtheCopperKeyandtheFirstGate,hewouldpostwhatheknewaboutus toeveryguntermessageboardhecouldfind.Whenwe refused, hemade good on his threat and began telling anyonewhowould listen thatAechand Iwereboth studentsonLudus.Ofcourse,hehadnowayofprovinghereallyknewus,andbythattimetherewerehundredsofotherguntersclaiming tobeourclosepersonal friends,soAechandIwerehoping his postswould go unnoticed.But they didn’t, of course.At least twoother gunters were sharp enough to connect the dots between Ludus, theLimerick,andtheTombofHorrors.ThedayafterI-r0kletthecatoutofthebag,thename“Daito”appearedinthefourthslotontheScoreboard.Then,lessthanfifteen minutes later, the name “Shoto” appeared in the fifth slot. Somehow,they’dbothobtainedacopyoftheCopperKeyonthesameday,withoutwaitingfortheservertoresetatmidnight.Then,afewhourslater,bothDaitoandShotoclearedtheFirstGate.No one had ever heard of these avatars before, but their names seemed to

indicatetheywereworkingtogether,eitherasaduooraspartofaclan.Shoto

and daito were the Japanese names for the short and long swords worn bysamurai. When worn as a set, the two swords were called daisho, and thisquicklybecamethenicknamebywhichthetwoofthemwereknown.Only four days had passed since my name had first appeared on the

Scoreboard, and one newnamehad appeared belowmine on each subsequentday.Thesecretwasoutnow,andthehuntseemedtobeshiftingintohighgear.All week, I was unable to focus on anything my teachers were saying.

Luckily, I only had twomonths of school left, and I’d already earned enoughcredits to graduate, even if I coasted from here on out. So I drifted from oneclass to thenext inadaze,puzzlingover theJadeKeyriddle, reciting itagainandagaininmymind.

ThecaptainconcealstheJadeKeyinadwellinglongneglected

Butyoucanonlyblowthewhistleoncethetrophiesareallcollected

AccordingtomyEnglishLittextbook,apoemwithfourlinesoftextandan

alternate-line rhyme scheme was known as a quatrain, so that became mynicknamefortheriddle.Eachnightafterschool,IloggedoutoftheOASISandfilled the blank pages of my grail diary with possible interpretations of theQuatrain.What “captain” was Anorak talking about? Captain Kangaroo? Captain

America?CaptainBuckRogersinthetwenty-fifthcentury?Andwhere in the hellwas this “dwelling long neglected”?That part of the

clueseemedmaddeninglynonspecific.Halliday’sboyhoodhomeonMiddletowncouldn’t really be classified as “neglected,” butmaybehewas talking about adifferent house in his hometown? That seemed too easy, and too close to thehidingplaceoftheCopperKey.Atfirst,IthoughttheneglecteddwellingmightbeareferencetoRevengeof

theNerds,oneofHalliday’sfavoritefilms. In thatmovie, thenerdsof the titlerent adilapidatedhouseand fix itup (duringaclassic ’80smusicmontage). Ivisiteda re-creationof theRevengeof theNerds houseon theplanetSkolnickandspentadaysearchingit,butitprovedtobeadeadend.ThelasttwolinesoftheQuatrainwerealsoacompletemystery.Theyseemed

tosaythatonceyoufoundtheneglecteddwelling,youwouldhavetocollectabunchof“trophies”andthenblowsomekindofwhistle.Ordidthatlinemeanblowthewhistleinthecolloquialsense,asin“torevealasecretoralertsomeonetoacrime”?Eitherway,itdidn’tmakeanysensetome.ButIcontinuedtogo

over each line, word by word, until my brain began to feel like Aquafreshtoothpaste.

ThatFridayafterschool, thedayDaitoandShotoclearedtheFirstGate,Iwassittinginasecludedspotafewmilesfrommyschool,asteephillwithasolitarytreeat the top.I likedtocomehere toread, todomyhomework,or tosimplyenjoytheviewofthesurroundinggreenfields.Ididn’thaveaccesstothatkindofviewintherealworld.AsIsatunderthetree,Isortedthroughthemillionsofmessagesstillclogging

myinbox.I’dbeensiftingthroughthemallweek.I’dreceivednotesfrompeopleall over the globe. Letters of congratulation. Pleas for help. Death threats.Interviewrequests.Severallong,incoherentdiatribesfromgunterswhosequestfortheegghadclearlydriventheminsane.I’dalsoreceivedinvitationstojoinfourofthebiggestgunterclans:theOviraptors,ClanDestiny,theKeyMasters,andTeamBanzai.Itoldeachofthemthanks,butnothanks.WhenIgottiredofreadingmy“fanmail,”Isortedoutallthemessagesthat

weretaggedas“businessrelated”andbeganreadingthroughthose.Idiscoveredthat I’d received several offers from movie studios and book publishers, allinterested inbuying the rights tomy life story. I deleted themall, because I’ddecidednevertorevealmytrueidentitytotheworld.At least,notuntilafterIfoundtheegg.I’dalsoreceivedseveralendorsement-dealoffersfromcompanieswhowanted

touseParzival’snameandfacetoselltheirservicesandproducts.Anelectronicsretailer was interested in using my avatar to promote their line of OASISimmersionhardwaresotheycouldsell“Parzival-approved”hapticrigs,gloves,andvisors. I alsohadoffers fromapizza-deliverychain, a shoemanufacturer,andanonlinestorethatsoldcustomavatarskins.Therewasevenatoycompanythatwanted tomanufacture a line of Parzival lunch boxes and action figures.These companieswere offering to payme inOASIS credits,whichwould betransferreddirectlytomyavatar’saccount.Icouldn’tbelievemyluck.Irepliedtoeverysingleoneoftheendorsementinquires,sayingthatIwould

accepttheiroffersunderthefollowingconditions:Iwouldn’thavetorevealmytrueidentity,andIwouldonlydobusinessthroughmyOASISavatar.Istartedreceivingreplieswithinthehour,withcontractsattached.Icouldn’t

affordtohavealawyerlookthemover,buttheyallexpiredwithinayear’stime,so I just went ahead and signed them electronically and e-mailed them backalong with a three-dimensional model of my avatar, to be used for the

commercials.Ialsoreceivedrequestsforanaudioclipofmyavatar’svoice,soIsentthemasynthesizedclipofadeepbaritonethatmademesoundlikeoneofthoseguyswhodidvoice-oversformovietrailers.Once they received everything,my avatar’s new sponsors informedme that

they’dwiremy first roundofpayments tomyOASISaccountwithin thenextforty-eight hours. The amount of money I was going to receive wouldn’t beenoughtomakemerich.Notbyalongshot.Buttoakidwho’dgrownupwithnothing,itseemedlikeafortune.Ididsomequickcalculations.IfIlivedfrugally,Iwouldhaveenoughtomove

outofthestacksandrentasmallefficiencyapartmentsomewhere.Forayear,atleast. The very thought filled me with nervous excitement. I’d dreamed ofescaping the stacks foras longas I could remember, andnow it appeared thatdreamwasabouttocometrue.With theendorsementdeals takencareof, Icontinued tosort throughmye-

mailmessages.When I sorted the remainingmessagesby sender, IdiscoveredthatI’dreceivedoverfivethousande-mailsfromInnovativeOnlineIndustries.Actually, they’dsentmefivethousandcopiesof thesamee-mail.They’dbeenresending the same message all week, since my name first appeared on theScoreboard.Andtheywerestillresendingit,onceeveryminute.TheSixersweremail-bombingme,tomakesuretheygotmyattention.Thee-mailswereallmarkedMaximumPriority,withthesubjectlineURGENT

BUSINESSPROPOSITION—PLEASEREADIMMEDIATELY!ThesecondIopenedone,adeliveryconfirmationwassentbacktoIOI,letting

them know that I was finally reading their message. After that, they stoppedresendingit.

DearParzival,

First, allowme to congratulate you on your recent accomplishments,whichweatInnovativeOnlineIndustriesholdinthehighestregard.

On behalf of IOI, I wish to make you a highly lucrative businessproposition,theexactdetailsofwhichwecandiscussinaprivatechatlinksession. Please use the attached contact card to reachme at your earliestconvenience,regardlessofthedayorhour.

Givenourreputationwithintheguntercommunity,Iwouldunderstandifyouwerehesitanttospeakwithme.However,pleasebeawarethatifyouchoose not to accept our proposal, we intend to approach each of your

competitors.Attheveryleast,wehopeyou’lldousthehonorofbeingthefirsttohearourgenerousoffer.Whathaveyougottolose?

Thankyouforyourkindattention.Ilookforwardtospeakingwithyou.

Sincerely,

NolanSorrentoHeadofOperationsInnovativeOnlineIndustries

Despite themessage’sreasonable tone, the threatbehinditwascrystalclear.

TheSixerswantedtorecruitme.Ortheywantedtopaymetotellthemhowtofind theCopperKeyandclear theFirstGate.And if I refused, theywouldgoafterArt3mis,thenAech,Daito,Shoto,andeveryothergunterwhomanagedtoget their name up on the Scoreboard. These shameless corporate sleazebagswouldn’t stop until they found someone dumb enough or desperate enough togiveinandsellthemtheinformationtheyneeded.Myfirstimpulsewastodeleteeverysinglecopyofthee-mailandpretendI’d

never received it,but I changedmymind. Iwanted toknowexactlywhat IOIwasgoingtooffer.AndIcouldn’tpassupthechancetomeetNolanSorrento,theSixers’infamousleader.Therewasnodangermeetingwithhimviachatlink,aslongasIwascarefulaboutwhatIsaid.Iconsidered teleporting toIncipiobeforemy“interview,” tobuyanewskin

formyavatar.Maybeatailoredsuit.Somethingflashyandexpensive.ButthenIthoughtbetterof it. Ihadnothing toprove to thatcorporateasshat.Afterall, Iwas famousnow. Iwould roll into themeetingwearingmydefault skinandafuck-offattitude.Iwouldlistentotheiroffer,thentellthemtokissmysimulatedass.MaybeI’drecordthewholethingandpostitonYouTube.I prepped for the meeting by pulling up a search engine and learning

everything I couldaboutNolanSorrento.HehadaPhD inComputerScience.Prior to becoming head of operations at IOI, he’d been a high-profile gamedesigner,overseeingthecreationofseveralthird-partyRPGsthatraninsidetheOASIS. I’dplayed all of his games, and theywere actuallyprettygood.He’dbeenadecentcoder,backbeforehesoldhissoul.ItwasobviouswhyIOIhadhiredhim to lead their lackeys.They figuredagamedesignerwouldhave thebestchanceofsolvingHalliday’sgrandvideogamepuzzle.ButSorrentoandtheSixershadbeenat it foroverfiveyearsandstillhadnothingtoshowfor theirefforts.AndnowthatgunteravatarnameswereappearingontheScoreboardleft

andright,theIOIbrasshadtobefreakingout.Sorrentowasprobablycatchingallkindsofheatfromhissuperiors.IwonderedifithadbeenSorrento’sideatotrytorecruitme,orifhe’dbeenorderedtodoit.OnceI’ddonemyhomeworkonSorrento,IfeltlikeIwasreadytositdown

with the devil. I pulled up the contact card attached to Sorrento’s e-mail andtappedthechatlinkinvitationiconatthebottom.

AsIfinishedconnectingtothechatlinksession,myavatarmaterializedonagrand observation deck with a stunning view of over a dozen OASIS worldssuspendedinblackspacebeyondthecurvedwindow.Iappearedtobeonaspacestationoraverylargetransportship;Icouldn’ttellwhich.Chatlink sessions worked differently from chat rooms, and they were a lot

moreexpensive tohost.Whenyouopenedachatlink,an insubstantialcopyofyour avatar was projected into another OASIS location. Your avatar wasn’tactually there, and so it appeared to other avatars as a slightly transparentapparition.Butyoucouldstillinteractwiththeenvironmentinalimitedway—walkingthroughdoors,sittinginchairs,andsoforth.Chatlinkswereprimarilyused for business purposes, when a company wanted to host a meeting in aspecific OASIS location without spending the time and money to transporteveryone’savatarstoit.ThiswasthefirsttimeI’deverusedone.I turned around and saw thatmy avatarwas standing in front of a largeC-

shaped reception desk. The IOI corporate logo—giant, overlapping chromeletters twenty feet tall—floated above it. As I approached the desk, animpossiblybeautifulblonde receptionist stood togreetme.“Mr.Parzival,” shesaid,bowingslightly.“WelcometoInnovativeOnlineIndustries!Justamoment.Mr.Sorrentoisalreadyonhiswaytogreetyou.”Iwasn’t surehow that couldbe, since I hadn’twarned them Iwas coming.

While I waited, I tried to activate my avatar’s vidfeed recorder, but IOI haddisabled recording in this chatlink session. They obviously didn’t wantme tohavevideoevidenceofwhatwasabouttogodown.SomuchformyplantoposttheinterviewonYouTube.Lessthanaminutelater,anotheravatarappeared,throughasetofautomatic

doorsontheoppositesideoftheobservationdeck.Heheadedrightforme,bootsclicking on the polished floor. It was Sorrento. I recognized him because hewasn’tusingastandard-issueSixeravatar—oneoftheperksofhisposition.Hisavatar’sfacematchedthephotosofhimI’dseenonline.Blondhairandbrown

eyes, a hawkish nose. He did wear the standard Sixer uniform—a navy bluebodysuitwithgoldepaulettesattheshouldersandasilverIOIlogoonhisrightbreast,withhisemployeenumberprintedbeneathit:655321.“At last!” he said as he walked up, grinning like a jackal. “The famous

Parzival has graced us with his presence!” He extended a gloved right hand.“NolanSorrento,chiefofoperations.It’sanhonortomeetyou.”“Yeah,”Isaid,doingmybesttosoundaloof.“Likewise,Iguess.”Evenasa

chatlink projection,my avatar could stillmime shaking his outstretched hand.InsteadIjuststareddownatitasifhewereofferingmeadeadrat.Hedroppeditafterafewseconds,buthissmiledidn’tfalter.Itbroadened.“Please follow me.” He led me across the deck and back through the

automaticdoors,whichslidopentorevealalargelaunchingbay.ItcontainedasingleinterplanetaryshuttlecraftemblazonedwiththeIOIlogo.Sorrentobegantoboardit,butIhaltedatthefootoftheramp.“Whybotherbringingmehereviaachatlink?”Iasked,motioningtothebay

aroundus.“Whynotjustgivemeyoursalespitchinachatroom?”“Please, indulgeme,” he said. “This chatlink ispart of our sales pitch.We

want to give you the same experience you’d have if you came to visit ourheadquartersinperson.”Right,Ithought.IfIhadcomehereinperson,myavatarwouldbesurrounded

bythousandsofSixersandI’dbeatyourmercy.Ijoinedhiminsidetheshuttle.Therampretractedandwelaunchedoutofthe

bay.Throughtheship’swraparoundwindowsIsawthatwewereleavingoneoftheSixers’orbital space stations.Loomingdirectly aheadofuswas theplanetIOI-1,amassivechromeglobe.ItremindedmeofthekillerfloatingspheresinthePhantasm films.Gunters referred to IOI-1 as “the Sixer homeworld.”Thecompany had constructed it shortly after the contest began, to serve as IOI’sonlinebaseofoperations.Ourshuttle,whichseemedtobeflyingonautomaticpilot,quicklyreachedthe

planetandbegantoskimitsmirroredsurface.Istaredoutthewindowaswedidonecompleteorbit.AsfarasIknew,nogunterhadeverbeengiventhiskindoftour.From pole to pole, IOI-1was coveredwith armories, bunkers, warehouses,

and vehicle hangars. I also saw airfields dotting the surface, where rows ofgleaming gunships, spacecraft, andmechanized battle tanks stood waiting foraction.Sorrento saidnothingaswesurveyed theSixerarmada.He just letmetakeitallin.I’d seen screenshots of IOI-1’s surface before, but they’d been low-res and

taken from high orbit, just beyond the planet’s impressive defense grid. The

largerclanshadbeenopenlyplottingtonuketheSixerOperationsComplexforseveralyearsnow,butthey’dnevermanagedtogetpastthedefensegridorreachtheplanet’ssurface.As we completed our orbit, the IOI Operations Complex swung into view

ahead of us. It consisted of three mirror-surfaced towers—two rectangularskyscrapers on either side of a circular one. Seen from above, these threebuildingsformedtheIOIlogo.TheshuttleslowedandhoveredabovetheO-shapedtower,thenspiraleddown

to a small landing pad on the roof. “Impressive digs, wouldn’t you agree?”Sorrento said, finally breaking his silence as we touched down and the ramplowered.“Notbad.” Iwasproudof thecalminmyvoice. In truth, Iwasstill reeling

fromeverythingI’djustseen.“ThisisanOASISreplicaoftherealIOItowerslocatedindowntownColumbus,right?”Isaid.Sorrentonodded.“Yes,theColumbuscomplexisourcompanyheadquarters.

Most of my team works in this central tower. Our close proximity to GSSeliminates any possibility of system lag. And, of course, Columbus doesn’tsufferfromtherollingpowerblackoutsthatplaguemostmajorU.S.cities.”Hewas stating the obvious. Gregarious Simulation Systemswas located in

Columbus,andsowastheirmainOASISservervault.Redundantmirrorserverswere located all over theworld, but theywere all linked to themain node inColumbus.Thiswaswhy,inthedecadessincethesimulation’slaunch,thecityhad become a kind of high-techMecca.Columbuswaswhere anOASIS usercould get the fastest,most reliable connection to the simulation.Most guntersdreamedofmovingtheresomeday,meincluded.IfollowedSorrentoofftheshuttleandintoanelevatoradjacenttothelanding

pad. “You’ve become quite the celebrity these past few days,” he said as webegantodescend.“Itmustbeveryexcitingforyou.Probablyalittlescary,too,huh?Knowingyounowpossess information thatmillions of peoplewould bewillingtokillfor?”I’dbeenwaitingforhimtosaysomethinglikethis,soIhadareplyprepared.

“Doyoumind skipping the scare tactics and theheadgames? Just tellme thedetailsofyouroffer.Ihaveothermatterstoattendto.”Hegrinnedatme like Iwasaprecociouschild. “Yes, I’msureyoudo,”he

said.“Butpleasedon’tjumptoanyconclusionsaboutouroffer.Ithinkyou’llbequite surprised.”Then,witha sudden touchof steel inhis tone,headded, “Infact,I’mcertainofit.”Doing my best to hide the intimidation I felt, I rolled my eyes and said,

“Whatever,man.”

Atonesoundedaswereachedthe106thfloor,andtheelevatordoorsswishedopen.IfollowedSorrentopastanotherreceptionistanddownalong,brightlylitcorridor.Thedecorwas somethingoutof autopian sci-fi flick.High-tech andimmaculate. We passed several other Sixer avatars as we walked, and themomenttheysawSorrento,theyeachsnappedtorigidattentionandsalutedhim,asifheweresomehigh-rankinggeneral.Sorrentodidn’treturnthesesalutesoracknowledgehisunderlingsinanyway.Eventually,heledmeintoahugeopenroomthatappearedtooccupymostof

the106thfloor.Itcontainedavastseaofhigh-walledcubicles,eachcontainingasinglepersonstrappedintoahigh-endimmersionrig.“WelcometoIOI’sOologyDivision,”Sorrentosaidwithobviouspride.“So,thisisSux0rzCentral,eh?”Isaid,glancingaround.“There’snoneedtoberude,”Sorrentosaid.“Thiscouldbeyourteam.”“WouldIgetmyveryowncubicle?”“No.You’dhaveyourownoffice,withaveryniceview.”Hegrinned.“Not

thatyou’dspendmuchtimelookingatit.”ImotionedtooneofthenewHabashawimmersionrigs.“Nicegear,”Isaid.It

reallywas,too.State-of-the-art.“Yes,itisnice, isn’t it?”hesaid.“Ourimmersionrigsareheavilymodified,

and they’re all networked together. Our systems allow multiple operators tocontrol any one of our oologist’s avatars. So depending on the obstacles anavatarencountersduring theirquest, controlcanbe instantly transferred to theteammemberwiththeskillsbestsuitedtodealwiththesituation.”“Yeah,butthat’scheating,”Isaid.“Oh, come on now,” he said, rolling his eyes. “There’s no such thing.

Halliday’s contest doesn’t have any rules. That’s one of the many colossalmistakes the old fool made.” Before I could reply, Sorrento started walkingagain, leadingme on through themaze of cubicles. “All of our oologists arevoice-linkedtoasupportteam,”hecontinued.“ComposedofHallidayscholars,videogame experts, pop-culture historians, and cryptologists. They all worktogether to help each of our avatars overcome any challenge and solve everypuzzle theyencounter.”He turnedandgrinnedatme. “Asyoucan see,we’vecoveredallthebases,Parzival.That’swhywe’regoingtowin.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Youguyshavebeendoingabang-upjobsofar.Bravo.Now,

whyisit thatwe’retalkingagain?Oh,right.YouguyshavenocluewheretheCopperKeyis,andyouneedmyhelptofindit.”Sorrentonarrowedhiseyes;thenhebegantolaugh.“Ilikeyou,kid,”hesaid,

grinningatme.“You’rebright.Andyou’vegotcojones.TwoqualitiesIgreatlyadmire.”

We continued walking. A few minutes later, we arrived in Sorrento’senormous office. Its windows afforded a stunning view of the surrounding“city.”Theskywasfilledwithaircarsandspacecraft,andtheplanet’ssimulatedsunwasjustbeginningtoset.Sorrentosatdownbehindhisdeskandofferedmethechairdirectlyacrossfromhim.Herewego,IthoughtasIsatdown.Playitcool,Wade.“So I’ll just cut to the chase,” he said. “IOI wants to recruit you. As a

consultant,toassistwithoursearchforHalliday’sEasteregg.You’llhaveallofour company’svast resources at yourdisposal.Money,weapons,magic items,ships,artifacts.Younameit.”“Whatwouldmytitlebe?”“Chief oologist,” he replied. “You’d be in charge of the entire division,

second-in-commandonlytome.I’mtalkingaboutfivethousandhighlytrainedcombat-readyavatars,alltakingordersdirectlyfromyou.”“Soundsprettysweet,”Isaid,tryinghardtosoundnonchalant.“Of course it does. But there’smore. In exchange for your services, we’re

willingtopayyoutwomilliondollarsayear,withaone-million-dollarsigningbonusupfront.Andifandwhenyouhelpusfindtheegg,you’llgetatwenty-five-million-dollarbonus.”I pretended to add all of those numbers up on my fingers. “Wow,” I said,

tryingtosoundimpressed.“CanIworkfromhome,too?”Sorrentocouldn’tseemtotellwhetherornotIwasjoking.“No,”hesaid.“I’m

afraidnot.You’dhavetorelocateheretoColumbus.Butwe’llprovideyouwithexcellent livingquartershereon thepremises.Andaprivateoffice,of course.Yourownstate-of-the-artimmersionrig—”“Holdon,”Isaid,holdingupahand.“YoumeanI’dhaveto live in theIOI

skyscraper?Withyou?AndalloftheotherSux—oologists?”Henodded.“Justuntilyouhelpusfindtheegg.”I resisted the urge to gag. “What about benefits?Would I get health care?

Dental?Vision?Keystotheexecutivewashroom?Shitlikethat?”“Ofcourse.”Hewasstartingtosoundimpatient.“So?Whatdoyousay?”“CanIthinkaboutitforafewdays?”“Afraid not,” he said. “This could all be over in a fewdays.Weneedyour

answernow.”I leaned back and stared at the ceiling, pretending to consider the offer.

Sorrento waited, watching me intently. I was about to give himmy preparedanswerwhenheraisedahand.“Justlistentomeamomentbeforeyouanswer,”Sorrentosaid.“Iknowmost

guntersclingtotheabsurdnotionthatIOIisevil.AndthattheSixersareruthless

corporatedroneswithnohonorandnorespectforthe‘truespirit’ofthecontest.Thatwe’reallsellouts.Right?”Inodded,barelyresistingtheurgetosay“That’sputtingitmildly.”“Well, that’s ridiculous,”hesaid, flashinganavunculargrin that Isuspected

wasgeneratedbywhateverdiplomacysoftwarehewasrunning.“TheSixersarereallynodifferentthanaGunterclan,albeitawell-fundedone.Weshareallthesameobsessionsasgunters.Andwehavethesamegoal.”Whatgoalisthat? Iwantedtoshout.ToruintheOASISforever?Topervert

anddefiletheonlythingthathasevermadeourlivesbearable?Sorrento seemed to takemy silence as a cue that he should continue. “You

know,contrarytopopularbelief,theOASISreallywon’tchangethatdrasticallywhen IOI takes control of it. Sure, we’ll have to start charging everyone amonthlyuserfee.Andincreasethesim’sadvertisingrevenue.Butwealsoplanto make a lot of improvements. Avatar content filters. Stricter constructionguidelines.We’regoingtomaketheOASISabetterplace.”No, I thought. You’re going to turn it into a fascist corporate theme park

wherethefewpeoplewhocanstillaffordthepriceofadmissionnolongerhaveanounceoffreedom.I’dheardasmuchofthisjerk’ssalespitchasIcouldstand.“OK,”Isaid.“Countmein.Signmeup.Whateveryouguyscallit.I’min.”Sorrento looked surprised. This clearly wasn’t the answer he’d been

expecting.HesmiledwideandwasabouttooffermehishandagainwhenIcuthimoff.“ButIhavethreeminorconditions,”Isaid.“First,Iwantafifty-million-dollar

bonuswhenIfindtheeggforyouguys.Nottwenty-five.Isthatdoable?”Hedidn’tevenhesitate.“Done.Whatareyourotherconditions?”“Idon’twanttobesecond-in-command,”Isaid.“Iwantyourjob,Sorrento.I

wanttobeinchargeofthewholeshebang.Chiefofoperations.ElNumeroUno.Oh, and I want everyone to have to call me El Numero Uno, too. Is thatpossible?”Mymouth seemed tobeoperating independentofmybrain. I couldn’thelp

myself.Sorrento’ssmilehadvanished.“Whatelse?”“Idon’twanttoworkwithyou.”Ileveledafingerathim.“Yougivemethe

creeps. But if your superiors are willing to fire your ass and give me yourposition,I’min.It’sadonedeal.”Silence.Sorrento’sfacewasastoicmask.Heprobablyhadcertainemotions,

likeangerandrage,filteredoutonhisfacial-recognitionsoftware.“Couldyoucheckwithyourbossesandletmeknowifthey’llagreetothat?”I

asked.“Oraretheymonitoringusrightnow?I’mbettingtheyare.”Iwavedtotheinvisiblecameras.“Hi,guys!Whatdoyousay?”There was a long silence, during which Sorrento simply glared at me. “Of

course they’remonitoringus,” he said finally. “And they’ve just informedmethatthey’rewillingtoagreetoeachofyourdemands.”Hedidn’tsoundallthatupset.“Really?”Isaid.“Great!WhencanIstart?Andmoreimportantly,whencan

youleave?”“Immediately,”hesaid.“Thecompanywillprepareyourcontractandsendit

toyour lawyer for approval.Thenwe—theywill flyyouhere toColumbus tosignthepaperworkandclosethedeal.”Hestood.“Thatshouldconclude—”“Actually—”Iheldupahand,cuttinghimoffagain.“I’vespentthelastfew

secondsthinkingthisoverabitmore,andI’mgonnahavetopassonyouroffer.IthinkI’dratherfindtheeggonmyown,thanks.”Istoodup.“YouandtheotherSux0rzcanallgofuckaduck.”Sorrentobegantolaugh.Along,heartylaughthatIfoundmorethanalittle

disturbing.“Oh,you’regood!Thatwassogood!Youreallyhadusgoingthere,kid!”Whenhislaughtertaperedoff,hesaid,“That’stheanswerIwasexpecting.Sonow,letmegiveyouoursecondproposal.”“There’s more?” I sat back down and put my feet up on his desk. “OK.

Shoot.”“We’llwirefivemilliondollarsdirectlytoyourOASISaccount,rightnow,in

exchangeforawalkthroughuptotheFirstGate.That’sit.Allyouhavetodoisgive us detailed step-by-step instructions on how to do what you’ve alreadydone.We’lltakeitfromthere.You’llbefreetocontinuesearchingfortheeggonyourown.Andourtransactionwillremainacompletesecret.Nooneeverneedknowofit.”Iadmit, Iactuallyconsidered it forasecond.Fivemilliondollarswouldset

meupforlife.AndevenifIhelpedtheSixerscleartheFirstGate,therewasnoguaranteethey’dbeabletocleartheothertwo.Istillwasn’tevensureifIwouldbeabletodothat.“Trustme,son,”Sorrentosaid.“Youshouldtakethisoffer.Whileyoucan.”Hispaternal tone irkedme tonoend, and thathelped to steelmy resolve. I

couldn’tsellouttotheSixers.IfIdid,andtheydidsomehowmanagetowinthecontest, I’dbe theone responsible.Therewasnoway I’dbeable to livewiththat.IjusthopedthatAech,Art3mis,andanyothergunterstheyapproachedfeltthesameway.“I’ll pass,” I said. I slid my feet off his desk and stood. “Thanks for your

time.”

Sorrento looked at me sadly, then motioned for me to sit back down.“Actually, we’re not quite done here. We have one final proposal for you,Parzival.AndIsavedthebestforlast.”“Can’tyoutakeahint?Youcan’tbuyme.Sopissoff.Adios.Good.Bye.”“Sitdown,Wade.”Ifroze.Hadhejustusedmyrealname?“That’sright,”Sorrentobarked.“Weknowwhoyouare.WadeOwenWatts.

BornAugust twelfth, 2024. Both parents deceased. Andwe also knowwhereyou are. You reside with your aunt, in a trailer park located at 700 PortlandAvenueinOklahomaCity.Unit56-K,tobeexact.Accordingtooursurveillanceteam, you were last seen entering your aunt’s trailer three days ago and youhaven’tleftsince.Whichmeansyou’restillthererightnow.”Avidfeedwindowopeneddirectlybehindhim,displayingalivevideoimage

ofthestackswhereIlived.Itwasanaerialview,maybebeingshotfromaplaneor a satellite. From this angle, they could onlymonitor the trailer’s twomainexits. So they hadn’t seen me leave through the laundry room window eachmorning,orreturnthroughiteachnight.Theydidn’tknowIwasactuallyinmyhideoutrightnow.“There you are,” Sorrento said. His pleasant, condescending tone had

returned.“Youshouldreallygetoutmore,Wade.It’snothealthytospendallofyourtimeindoors.”Theimagemagnifiedafewtimes,zoominginonmyaunt’strailer. Then it switched over to thermal-imaging mode, and I could see theglowing outlines of over a dozen people, children and adults, sitting inside.Nearlyallofthemweremotionless—probablyloggedintotheOASIS.Iwas toostunnedtospeak.Howhadtheyfoundme?Itwassupposed tobe

impossible for anyone to obtain your OASIS account information. And myaddresswasn’teveninmyOASISaccount.Youdidn’thavetoprovideitwhenyou created your avatar. Just your name and retinal pattern. So how had theyfoundoutwhereIlived?Somehowtheymusthavegottenaccesstomyschoolrecords.“Your first instinct right now might be to log out and make a run for it,”

Sorrento said. “I urge you not to make that mistake. Your trailer is currentlywiredwithalargequantityofhighexplosives.”Hepulledsomethingthatlookedlikearemotecontroloutofhispocketandhelditup.“Andmyfingerisonthedetonator. If you log out of this chatlink session, you will die within a fewseconds.DoyouunderstandwhatI’msayingtoyou,Mr.Watts?”Inoddedslowly,tryingdesperatelytogetagriponthesituation.Hewasbluffing.Hehadtobebluffing.Andevenifhewasn’t,hedidn’tknow

thatIwasactuallyhalfamileaway,inmyhideout.Sorrentoassumedthatoneof

theglowingthermaloutlinesonthedisplaywasme.Ifabombreallydidgooffinmyaunt’strailer,I’dbesafedownhere,underall

thesejunkcars.Wouldn’tI?Besides,theywouldneverkillallthosepeoplejusttogettome.“How—?”ThatwasallIcouldgetout.“Howdidwefindoutwhoyouare?Andwhereyoulive?”Hegrinned.“Easy.

You screwed up, kid.When you enrolled in theOASIS public school system,yougavethemyournameandaddress.Sotheycouldmailyouyourreportcards,Isuppose.”Hewasright.Myavatar’sname,myrealname,andmyhomeaddresswereall

storedinmyprivatestudentfile,whichonlytheprincipalcouldaccess.Itwasastupidmistake,butI’denrolledtheyearbeforethecontestevenbegan.BeforeIbecameagunter.BeforeIlearnedtoconcealmyreal-worldidentity.“Howdidyou findout I attend schoolonline?” I asked. I alreadyknew the

answer,butIneededtostallfortime.“There’sbeenarumorcirculatingontheguntermessageboardsthepastfew

days thatyouandyourpalAechbothgo toschoolonLudus.Whenweheardthat,wedecidedtocontactafewOPSadministratorsandofferthemabribe.Doyouknowhowlittleaschooladministratormakesayear,Wade?It’sscandalous.Oneofyourprincipalswaskindenough tosearch thestudentdatabase for theavatarnameParzival,andguesswhat?”Another window appeared beside the live video feed of the stacks. It

displayedmy entire student profile.My full name, avatar name, student alias(Wade3), date of birth, SocialSecurity number, andhome address.My schooltranscripts. Itwasall there, alongwithanoldyearbookphoto, takenover fiveyearsago—rightbeforeI’dtransferredtoschoolintheOASIS.“WehaveyourfriendAech’sschoolrecordstoo.Buthewassmartenoughto

giveafakenameandaddresswhenheenrolled.Sofindinghimwill takeabitlonger.”Hepausedtoletmereply,butIremainedsilent.Mypulsewasracing,andI

hadtokeepremindingmyselftobreathe.“So,thatbringsmetoourfinalproposal.”Sorrentorubbedhishandstogether

excitedly,likeakidabouttoopenapresent.“TellushowtoreachtheFirstGate.Rightnow.Orwewillkillyou.Rightnow.”“You’rebluffing,”Iheardmyselfsay.ButIdidn’tthinkhewas.Notatall.“No,Wade. I’mnot.Thinkabout it.Witheverythingelse that’sgoingon in

theworld,doyouthinkanyonewillcareaboutanexplosioninsomeghetto-trashrat warren in Oklahoma City? They’ll assume it was a drug-lab accident. Ormaybeadomesticterroristcelltryingtobuildahomemadebomb.Eitherway,it

will just mean there are a few hundred less human cockroaches out therecollectingfoodvouchersandusinguppreciousoxygen.Noonewillcare.Andtheauthoritieswon’tevenblink.”Hewasright,andIknewit.ItriedtostallforafewsecondssoIcouldfigure

outwhattodo.“You’dkillme?”Isaid.“Towinavideogamecontest?”“Don’t pretend to be naïve, Wade,” Sorrento said. “There are billions of

dollars at stake here, alongwith control of one of theworld’smost profitablecorporations, and of the OASIS itself. This is much more than a videogamecontest.Italwayshasbeen.”Heleanedforward.“Butyoucanstillcomeoutawinnerhere,kid. Ifyouhelpus,we’ll still giveyou the fivemillion.Youcanretireatageeighteenandspendtherestofyourdayslivinglikeroyalty.Oryoucandieinthenextfewseconds.It’syourcall.Butaskyourselfthisquestion—ifyourmotherwerestillalive,whatwouldshewantyoutodo?”ThatlastquestionwouldreallyhavepissedmeoffifIhadn’tbeensoscared.

“What’stostopyoufromkillingmeafterIgiveyouwhatyouwant?”Iasked.“Regardless of what you may think, we don’t want to have to kill anyone

unless it’s absolutely necessary.Besides, there are twomore gates, right?”Heshrugged.“Wemightneedyourhelptofigurethoseouttoo.Personally,Idoubtit.Butmysuperiorsfeeldifferently.Regardless,youdon’treallyhaveachoiceatthispoint,doyou?”Heloweredhisvoice,asifhewereabouttoshareasecret.“Sohere’swhat’sgoing tohappennext.You’regoing togiveme step-by-stepinstructions on how to obtain the Copper Key and clear the First Gate. Andyou’regoingtostayloggedintothischatlinksessionwhileweverifyeverythingyou tell us. Log out before I say it’s OK, and your whole world goes boom.Understand?Nowstarttalking.”I considered giving them what they wanted. I really did. But I thought it

through,andIcouldn’tcomeupwithasinglegoodreasonwhytheywouldletme live, even if I helped themclear theFirstGate.Theonlymove thatmadesensewastokillmeandtakemeoutoftherunning.Theysureashellweren’tgoingtogivemefivemilliondollars,orleavemealivetotellthemediahowIOIhad blackmailed me. Especially if there really was a remote-controlled bombplantedinmytrailertoserveasevidence.No. The way I saw it, there were really only two possibilities: Either they

werebluffingortheyweregoingtokillme,whetherIhelpedthemornot.Imademydecisionandsummonedmycourage.“Sorrento,”Isaid, tryingtohidethefear inmyvoice,“Iwantyouandyour

bossestoknowsomething.You’renevergoingtofindHalliday’segg.Youknowwhy?Becausehewassmarterthanallofyouputtogether.Itdoesn’tmatterhowmuchmoneyyouhaveorwhoyoutrytoblackmail.You’regoingtolose.”

I tappedmyLog-out icon, andmyavatarbegan todematerialize in frontofhim.Hedidn’tseemsurprised.Hejustlookedatmesadlyandshookhishead.“Stupidmove,kid,”hesaid,justbeforemyvisorwentblack.I sat there in the darkness of my hideout, wincing and waiting for the

detonation.Butafullminutepassedandnothinghappened.Islidmyvisorupandpulledoffmygloveswithshakinghands.Asmyeyes

begantoadjusttothedarkness,Iletoutatentativesighofrelief.Ithadbeenabluffafterall.Sorrentohadbeenplayinganelaboratemindgamewithme.Aneffectiveonetoo.AsIwasgulpingdownabottleofwater,IrealizedthatIshouldlogbackin

andwarnAechandArt3mis.TheSixerswouldgoafterthemnext.IwaspullingmyglovesbackonwhenIheardtheexplosion.I felt the shock wave a split second after I heard the detonation and

instinctivelydroppedtothefloorofmyhideoutwithmyarmswrappedovermyhead.Inthedistance,Icouldhearthesoundofrendingmetalasseveraltrailerstacksbegan to collapse, ripping freeof their scaffolding and crashing againstone another likemassive dominoes. These horrific sounds continued forwhatseemedlikeaverylongtime.Thenitwassilentagain.Ieventuallyovercamemyparalysisandopenedthereardoorofthevan.Ina

nightmare-likedaze,Imademywaytotheoutskirtsofthejunkpile,andfromthere,Icouldseeagiantpillarofsmokeandflamesrisingfromtheoppositeendofthestacks.I followed the streamof people already running in that direction, along the

northern perimeter of the stacks. The stack containing my aunt’s trailer hadcollapsed intoa fiery,smokingruin,alongwithallof thestacksadjacent to it.Therewasnothingtherenowbutamassivepileoftwisted,flamingmetal.Ikeptmydistance,butalargecrowdofpeoplehadalreadygatheredupahead

ofme, standingasclose to theblazeas theydared.Noonebothered trying toenterthewreckagetolookforsurvivors.Itwasobviousthereweren’tgoingtobeany.Anancientpropanetankattachedtooneofthecrushedtrailersdetonatedina

smallexplosion,causing thecrowdtoscatteranddiveforcover.Severalmoretanks detonated in rapid succession. After that, the onlookers moved muchfartherbackandkepttheirdistance.Theresidentswholivedinthenearbystacksknewthatifthefirespread,they

wereinbigtrouble.Soalotofpeoplewerealreadyscramblingtofighttheblaze,usinggardenhoses,buckets,emptyBigGulpcups,andwhateverelsetheycouldfind.Beforelong,theflameswerecontainedandthefirebegantodieout.As I watched in silence, I could already hear the people around me

murmuring,sayingthatitwasprobablyanothermeth-labaccident,orthatsomeidiotmust have been trying to build a homemade bomb. Just as Sorrento hadpredicted.That thought snappedmeoutofmydaze.Whatwas I thinking?TheSixers

hadjusttriedtokillme.Theyprobablystillhadagentslurkinghereinthestacks,checkingtomakesureIwasdead.AndlikeatotalidiotIwasstandingrightoutintheopen.I fadedaway from thecrowdandhurriedback tomyhideout,beingcareful

not to run, constantly glancing overmy shoulder tomake sure Iwasn’t beingfollowed.OnceIwasbackinsidethevan,Islammedandlockedthedoor,thencurledintoaquiveringballinthecorner.Istayedlikethatforalongtime.Eventually, the shock began to wear off, and the reality of what had just

happenedstarted to sink in.MyauntAliceandherboyfriendRickweredead,alongwitheveryonewhohad lived inour trailer,and in the trailersbelowandaroundit.IncludingsweetoldMrs.Gilmore.AndifIhadbeenathome,Iwouldbedeadnowtoo.I was jacked up on adrenaline, unsure of what to do next, overcome by a

paralyzingmixtureoffearandrage.IthoughtaboutloggingintotheOASIStocallthepolice,butthenconsideredhowtheywouldreactwhenItoldthemmystory.They’dthinkIwasaravingnutjob.AndifIcalledthemedia,they’dreactthesameway.Therewasnowayanyonewouldbelievemystory.NotunlessIrevealedthatIwasParzival,andmaybenoteventhen.Ididn’thaveashredofproofagainstSorrentoandtheSixers.Alltracesofthebombthey’dplantedwereprobablymeltingintoslagrightnow.RevealingmyidentitytotheworldsothatIcouldaccuseoneoftheworld’s

most powerful corporations of blackmail and murder didn’t seem like thesmartestmove.Noonewouldbelieveme.Icouldbarelybelieveitmyself.IOIhadactuallytriedtokillme.Topreventmefromwinningavideogamecontest.Itwasinsane.Iseemedtobesafeinmyhideoutforthemoment,butIknewIcouldn’tstay

in the stacks much longer.When the Sixers found out I was still alive, theywouldcomebackherelookingforme.IneededtogetthehelloutofDodge.ButI couldn’t do that until I had some money, and my first endorsement checkswouldn’tbedepositedforanotherdayortwo.Iwouldjusthavetolielowuntilthen.Butrightnow,IneededtotalktoAech,towarnhimthathewasnextontheSixers’hitlist.Iwasalsodesperatetoseeafriendlyface.

IgrabbedmyOASISconsoleandpowerediton,thenpulledonmyvisorandgloves.AsIloggedin,myavatarreappearedonLudus,onthehilltopwhereI’dbeensittingpriortomychat-roomsessionwithSorrento.Themomentmyaudiokicked in, I heard the earsplitting roar of engines coming from somewheredirectly overheard. I stepped out from under the tree and looked up. I saw asquadronofSixergunshipsflying information,zoomingsouthat lowaltitude,theirsensorsscanningthesurfaceastheywent.Iwasabouttoduckbackunderthetree,outofsight,whenIrememberedthat

allofLuduswasano-PvPzone.TheSixerscouldn’tharmmehere.Evenso,mynerveswerestillonedge. Icontinued toscan theskyandquicklyspotted twomore Sixer gunship squadrons off near the eastern horizon. A moment later,severalmore squadronsdropped in fromorbit to thenorthandwest. It lookedlikeanalieninvasion.Aniconflashedonmydisplay, informingmethatIhadanewtextmessage

fromAech:Wherethehellareyou?CallmeASAFP!I tappedhisnameonmycontact list,andheansweredon thefirst ring.His

avatar’s face appeared in my vidfeed window. He was wearing a grimexpression.“Didyouhearthenews?”heasked.“Whatnews?”“TheSixersareonLudus.Thousandsof them.Morearrivingeveryminute.

They’researchingtheplanet,lookingforthetomb.”“Yeah.I’monLudusrightnow.Sixergunshipseverywhere.”Aechscowled.“WhenIfindI-r0k,I’mgoingtokillhim.Slowly.Then,when

hecreatesanewavatar,I’mgoingtohunthimdownandkillhimagain.Ifthatmoron had kept hismouth shut, the Sixers neverwould have thought to lookhere.”“Yeah.Hisforumpostswerewhattippedthemoff.Sorrentosaidsohimself.”“Sorrento?AsinNolanSorrento?”

Itoldhimeverythingthathadhappenedinthepastfewhours.“Theyblewupyourhouse?”“Actually,itwasatrailer,”Isaid.“Inatrailerpark.Theykilledalotofpeople

here,Aech.It’sprobablyalreadyonthenewsfeeds.”Itookadeepbreath.“I’mfreakingout.I’mscared.”“I don’t blame you,” he said. “Thank God you weren’t home when it

happened.…”Inodded.“Ialmostneverloginfromhome.Luckily,theSixersdidn’tknow

that.”“Whataboutyourfamily?”“Itwasmyaunt’splace.She’sdead, I think.We…weweren’tveryclose.”

Thiswasahugeunderstatement,ofcourse.MyauntAlicehadnevershownmemuchkindness,butshestillhadn’tdeservedtodie.Butmostof thewrenchingguiltInowfelthadtodowithMrs.Gilmore,andtheknowledgethatmyactionshadgottenherkilled.ShewasoneofthesweetestpeopleI’deverknown.IrealizedthatIwassobbing.ImutedmyaudiosoAechwouldn’thear,then

tookseveraldeepbreathsuntilIgotmyselfundercontrolagain.“Ican’tbelievethis!”Aechgrowled.“Thoseevilpricks.They’regonnapay,

Z.Countonit.Wewillmakethempayforthis.”Icouldn’tseehow,butIdidn’targue.Iknewhewasjusttryingtomakeme

feelbetter.“Whereareyourightnow?”Aechasked.“Doyouneedhelp?Like,aplaceto

stayorsomething?Icanwireyousomemoneyifyouneedit.”“No,I’mOK,”Isaid.“Butthanks,man.Ireallyappreciatetheoffer.”“Denada,amigo.”“Listen,didtheSixerssendyouthesamee-mailtheysentme?”“Yeah.Thousandsofthem.ButIdecideditwasbesttoignorethem.”Ifrowned.“IwishI’dbeensmartenoughtodothat.”“Dude,youhadnowayofknowingtheyweregonnatryandkillyou!Besides,

they already had your home address. If you’d ignored their e-mails, theyprobablywouldhavesetoffthatbombanyway.”“Listen, Aech … Sorrento said that your school records contained a fake

homeaddress,and that theydon’tknowwhere tofindyou.Buthemighthavebeenlying.Youshouldleavehome.Gosomewheresafe.Assoonaspossible.”“Don’tworryaboutme,Z.Istaymobile.Thosebastardswillneverfindme.”“Ifyousayso,” I replied,wonderingwhatexactlyhemeant.“But Ineed to

warnArt3mis, too.AndDaito and Shoto, if I can reach them.The Sixers areprobablydoingeverythingtheycantolearntheiridentitiestoo.”“Thatgivesmeanidea,”hesaid.“Weshouldinviteallthreeofthemtomeet

us in the Basement later tonight. Say around midnight? A private chat-roomsession.Justthefiveofus.”MymoodbrightenedattheprospectofseeingArt3misagain.“Doyouthink

they’llallagreetocome?”“Yeah,ifweletthemknowtheirlivesdependonit.”Hesmirked.“Andwe’re

going to have the world’s top five gunters together in one chat room.Who’sgonnasitthatout?”

I sent Art3mis a shortmessage, asking her tomeet us inAech’s private chatroomatmidnight. She replied just a fewminutes later, promising to be there.Aech toldmehe’dmanaged to reachDaitoandShoto,and theyhadbothalsoagreedtoattend.Themeetingwasset.I didn’t feel like being alone, so I logged into theBasement about an hour

early. Aech was already there, surfing the newsfeeds on the ancient RCAtelevision.Withoutsayingaword,hegotupandgavemeahug.EventhoughIcouldn’t actually feel it, I found it surprisingly comforting. Thenwe both satdownandwatchedthenewscoveragetogetherwhilewewaitedfortheotherstoarrive.Every channel was airing OASIS footage showing the hordes of Sixer

spacecraft and troops that were currently arriving on Ludus. It was easy foreveryone to guess why they were there, and so now every gunter in thesimulationwas also headed for Ludus. Transport terminals all over the planetwerejammedwithincomingavatars.“Somuchforkeepingthetomb’slocationasecret,”Isaid,shakingmyhead.“Itwasboundtoleakouteventually,”Aechsaid,shuttingofftheTV.“Ijust

didn’tthinkitwouldhappenthisfast.”WebothheardanentrancealertchimeasArt3mismaterializedat the topof

the staircase.Shewaswearing the sameoutfit she’dhadon thenightwemet.She waved to me as she descended the steps. I waved back, then madeintroductions.“Aech,meetArt3mis.Art3mis,thisismybestfriend,Aech.”“Pleasuretomeetyou,”Art3missaid,extendingherrighthand.Aech shook it. “Likewise.” He flashed his Cheshire grin. “Thanks for

coming.”“Areyoukidding?Howcould Imiss it?Thevery firstmeetingof theHigh

Five.”“TheHighFive?”Isaid.“Yeah,” Aech said. “That’s what they’re calling us on all of the message

boardsnow.Weholdthetopfivehigh-scoreslotsontheScoreboard.Sowe’retheHighFive.”“Right,”Isaid.“Atleastforthetimebeing.”Art3mis grinned at that, then turned and began to wander around the

Basement,admiringthe’80sdecor.“Aech,thisis,byfar,thecoolestchatroomI’veeverseen.”“Thankyou.”Hebowedhishead.“Kindofyoutosay.”She stopped to browse through the shelf of role-playing game supplements.

“You’vere-createdMorrow’sbasementperfectly.Everylastdetail.Iwanttolivehere.”“You’vegotapermanentspotontheguestlist.Loginandhangoutanytime.”“Really?” she said, clearly delighted. “Thank you! I will. You’re the man,

Aech.”“Yes,”hesaid,smiling.“It’strue.Iam.”Theyreallyseemedtobehittingitoff,anditwasmakingmecrazyjealous.I

didn’twantArt3mistolikeAech,orviceversa.Iwantedheralltomyself.DaitoandShotologgedinamomentlater,appearingsimultaneouslyatthetop

ofthebasementstaircase.Daitowasthetallerofthetwo,andappearedtobeinhislateteens.Shotowasafootshorterandlookedmuchyounger.Maybeaboutthirteen.BothavatarslookedJapanese,andtheyboreastrikingresemblancetooneanother,likesnapshotsofthesameyoungmantakenfiveyearsapart.Theywore matching suits of traditional samurai armor, and each had both a shortwakizashiandalongerkatanastrappedtohisbelt.“Greetings,”thetallersamuraisaid.“IamDaito.Andthisismylittlebrother,

Shoto.Thankyoufortheinvitation.Wearehonoredtomeetallthreeofyou.”They bowed in unison. Aech and Art3mis returned the bow, and I quickly

followed suit.Aswe each introducedourselves,Daito andShotobowed to usonceagain,andonceagainweeachreturnedthegesture.“All right,”Aech said, once all thebowinghad ended. “Let’s get this party

started. I’m sure you’ve all seen the news. The Sixers are swarming all overLudus.Thousandsofthem.They’reconductingasystematicsearchoftheentiresurfaceoftheplanet.Eveniftheydon’tknowexactlywhatthey’relookingfor,itstillwon’tbelongbeforetheyfindtheentrancetothetomb—”“Actually,”Art3mis interrupted, “they already found it.Over thirtyminutes

ago.”Weallturnedtolookather.“Thathasn’tbeenreportedonthenewsfeedsyet,”Daitosaid.“Areyousure?”She nodded. “Afraid so. When I heard about the Sixers this morning, I

decidedtohideanuplinkcamerainsometreesnearthetombentrance,tokeep

aneyeonthearea.”Sheopenedavidfeedwindowintheairinfrontofherandspun it around so the rest of us could see. It showed awide shot of the flat-toppedhilland theclearingaround it, lookingdownfromaspot inoneof thetreeshighabove.Fromthisangle,itwaseasytoseethatthelargeblackstoneson topof thehillwerearranged to look likeahumanskull.Wecouldalsoseethat the entire areawas crawlingwithSixers, andmore seemed tobe arrivingeverysecond.Butthemostdisturbingthingwesawonthevidfeedwasthelargetransparent

domeofenergythatnowcoveredtheentirehill.“Sonofabitch,”Aechsaid.“IsthatwhatIthinkitis?”Art3misnodded. “A force field.TheSixers installed it just after the first of

themarrived.So…”“Sofromhereonout,”Daitosaid,“anygunterwhofindsthetombwon’tbe

abletogetinside.Notunlesstheycansomehowgetthroughthatforcefield.”“Actually,they’veputuptwoforcefields,”Art3missaid.“Asmallfieldwitha

larger field over it. They lower them in sequence, whenever they want to letmore Sixers enter the tomb. Like an air lock.” She pointed to the window.“Watch.They’redoingitnow.”A squadron of Sixersmarched down the loading ramp of a gunship parked

nearby. They were all lugging equipment containers. As they approached theouterforcefield,itvanished,revealingasmallerdomedfieldinsidethefirst.Assoon as the squadron reached thewall of the inner force field, the outer fieldreappeared. A second later, the inner force field was dropped, allowing theSixerstoenterthetomb.Therewasalongsilencewhileweallcontemplatedthisnewdevelopment.“Isupposeitcouldbeworse,”Aechsaidfinally.“IfthetombwereinaPvP

zone, those assholes would already have laser cannons and robot sentriesmountedeverywhere,tovaporizeanyonewhoapproachedthearea.”Hewasright.SinceLuduswasasafezone,theSixerscouldn’tharmgunters

whoapproachedthe tomb.But therewasnothing tostop themfromerectingaforcefieldtokeepthemout.Sothatwasexactlywhatthey’ddone.“The Sixers have obviously been planning for this moment for some time

now,”Art3missaid,closinghervidfeedwindow.“Theywon’tbeabletokeepeveryoneoutforverylong,”Aechsaid.“When

the clans find out about this, it’ll be all-out war. There will be thousands ofguntersattacking that force fieldwitheverything they’vegot.RPGs.Fireballs.Cluster bombs. Nukes. It’s gonna get ugly. They’ll turn that forest into awasteland.”“Yeah,butinthemeantime,SixeravatarswillbefarmingtheCopperKeyand

then filing their avatars through theFirstGate,oneafter another, in a freakin’congaline.”“But how can they do this?” Shoto asked, his young voice brimmingwith

rage.Helookedtohisbrother.“It’snotfair.They’renotplayingfair.”“Theydon’t have to.There areno laws in theOASIS, little brother,”Daito

said.“TheSixerscandowhatever theyplease.Theywon’tstopuntil someonestopsthem.”“TheSixershavenohonor,”Shotosaid,scowling.“Youguysdon’tknowthehalfofit,”Aechsaid.“That’swhyParzivalandI

asked you all here.” He turned to me. “Z, do you want to tell them whathappened?”I nodded and turned to the others. First, I told them about the e-mail I’d

received from IOI. They’d all received the same invitation, but had wiselyignored it. Then I related the details of my chat-room session with Sorrento,doing my best not to leave anything out. Finally, I told them how ourconversationhadended—withabombdetonatingatmyhomeaddress.By thetimeI’dfinished,theiravatarsallworelooksofstunneddisbelief.“Jesus,”Art3miswhispered.“Nojoke?Theytriedtokillyou?”“Yeah. They would have succeeded, too, if I’d been at home. I was just

lucky.”“Now you all know how far the Sixers are willing to go to stop us from

beating them to the egg,”Aech said. “If they’re able to locate any one of us,we’redeadmeat.”Inodded.“Soyoushouldalltakeprecautionstoprotectyourselvesandyour

identities,”Isaid.“Ifyouhaven’talready.”Theyallnodded.Therewasanotherlongsilence.“There’s still one thing I don’t understand,” Art3mis said a moment later.

“HowdidtheSixersknowtolookforthetombonLudus?Didsomeonetipthemoff?”Sheglancedaroundateachofus,buttherewasnohintofaccusationinhervoice.“Theymusthaveseen therumorsaboutParzivalandAech thatwereposted

onalloftheguntermessageboards,”Shotosaid.“That’showweknewtolookthere.”Daitowinced,thenpunchedhislittlebrotherintheshoulder.“Didn’tItellyou

to keep quiet, blabbermouth?” he hissed. Shoto looked sheepish and clammedup.“Whatrumors?”Art3misasked.Shelookedatme.“What’shetalkingabout?

Ihaven’thadtimetochecktheboardsinafewdays.”“Several posts were made by gunters who claimed to know Parzival and

Aech, saying theywere both students onLudus.”He turned toAech andme.“My brother and I have spent the past two years searching for the Tomb ofHorrors.We’vescoureddozensofworldslookingforit.ButweneverthoughttolookonLudus.Notuntilweheardthatyouattendedschoolthere.”“It never occurred to me that attending school on Ludus was something I

neededtokeepasecret,”Isaid.“SoIdidn’t.”“Yeah, and it’s lucky for us that you didn’t,” Aech said. He turned to the

others.“Parzivalunintentionallytippedmeoffaboutthetomb’slocation,too.Inever thought to look for it on Ludus, either, until his name appeared on theScoreboard.”Daitonudgedhisyoungerbrother,andtheybothfacedmeandbowed.“You

were thefirst tofind the tomb’shidingplace,soweoweyouourgratitudeforleadingustoit.”Ireturnedtheirbow.“Thanks,guys.Butactually,Art3misherefounditfirst.

Totallyonherown.AmonthbeforeIdid.”“Yeah,forallthegooditdidme,”Art3missaid.“Icouldn’tdefeatthelichat

Joust.I’dbeenatitforweekswhenthispunkshowedupanddiditonhisfirsttry.”Sheexplainedhowwemet,andhowshefinallymanagedtobeatthekingthefollowingday,rightaftertheserverresetatmidnight.“IhaveAechheretothankformyjoustingprowess,”Isaid.“Weusedtoplay

allthetime,hereintheBasement.That’stheonlyreasonIbeatthekingonmyfirstattempt.”“Ditto,”Aechsaid.Hestretchedouthishandandwebumpedfists.Daito and Shoto both smiled. “It was the same with us,” Daito said. “My

brotherandIhavebeenplayingJoustagainstoneanotherforyears,becausethegamewasmentionedinAnorak’sAlmanac.”“Great,”Art3missaid,throwingupherhands.“Goodforyouguys.Youwere

all prepared in advance. I’m so happy for you. Bravo.” She gave us all asarcastic golf clap, which made everyone laugh. “Now, can we adjourn theMutualAdmirationSocietyandgetbacktothetopicathand?”“Sure,”Aechsaid,smiling.“Whatwasthetopicathand?”“TheSixers?”Art3misoffered.“Right!Ofcourse!”Aechrubbedthebackofhisneckwhilebitinghislower

lip, somethinghealwaysdidwhenhewas trying togatherhis thoughts. “Yousaid they found the tomb less than an hour ago, right? So any minute now,they’llreachthethroneroomandfaceoffagainstthelich.Butwhatdoyouthinkhappenswhenmultipleavatarsentertheburialchamberatthesametime?”IturnedtoDaitoandShoto.“YournamesappearedontheScoreboardonthe

same day, just a fewminutes apart. So you entered the throne room together,

didn’tyou?”Daitonodded.“Yes,”hesaid.“Andwhenwesteppedonthedais,twocopies

ofthekingappeared,oneforeachofustoplay.”“Great,”Art3missaid.“SoitmightbepossibleforhundredsofSixerstojoust

fortheCopperKeyatthesametime.Oreventhousands.”“Yeah,” Shoto said. “But to get the key, each Sixer has to beat the lich at

Joust,whichweallknowisn’teasy.”“TheSixersareusinghackedimmersionrigs,”Isaid.“Sorrentowasboasting

aboutittome.They’vegotitsetupsothatdifferentuserscancontroltheactionsofeveryoneoftheiravatars.SotheycanjusthavetheirbestJoustplayerstakecontrol of each Sixer avatar during thematch againstAcererak.One after theother.”“Cheatingbastards,”Aechrepeated.“TheSixershavenohonor,”Daitosaid,shakinghishead.“Yeah,”Art3missaid,rollinghereyes.“We’veestablishedthat.”“Itgetsworse,”Isaid.“EverySixerhasasupportteammadeupofHalliday

scholars,videogameexperts,andcryptologistswhoaretheretohelpthembeatevery challenge and solve every puzzle they encounter. Playing through theWarGamessimulationwillbeapieceofcakeforthem.Someonewilljustfeedthemthedialogue.”“Unbelievable,” Aech muttered. “How are we supposed to compete with

that?”“Wecan’t,”Art3missaid.“OncetheyhavetheCopperKey,they’llprobably

locatetheFirstGatejustasquicklyaswealldid.Itwon’ttakethemverylongtocatchupwithus.AndoncetheyhavetheriddleabouttheJadeKey,they’llhavetheireggheadsworkingaroundtheclocktodecipherit.”“If they find the JadeKey’s hiding place beforewe do, they’ll barricade it,

too,”Isaid.“Andthenthefiveofuswillbeinthesameboateveryoneelseisinrightnow.”Art3misnodded.Aechkickedthecoffeetableinfrustration.“Thisisn’teven

remotely fair,” he said. “The Sixers have a huge advantage over all of us.They’vegotanendlesssupplyofmoney,weapons,vehicles,andavatars.Therearethousandsofthem,allworkingtogether.”“Right,”Isaid.“Andeachofusisonourown.Well,exceptforyoutwo.”I

nodded at Daito and Shoto. “But you know what I mean. They’ve got usoutnumberedandoutgunned,andthatisn’tgoingtochangeanytimesoon.”“Whatareyousuggesting?”Daitoasked.Hesuddenlysoundeduneasy.“I’m not suggesting anything,” I said. “I’m just stating the facts, as I see

them.”

“Good,”Daito replied. “Because it sounded likeyouwere about toproposesomesortofalliancebetweenthefiveofus.”Aechstudiedhimcarefully.“So?Wouldthatbesuchaterribleidea?”“Yes, itwould,”Daito said curtly. “My brother and I hunt alone.We don’t

wantorneedyourhelp.”“Ohreally?”Aechsaid.“Asecondago,youadmittedneedingParzival’shelp

tofindtheTombofHorrors.”Daito’seyesnarrowed.“Wewouldhavefounditonourowneventually.”“Right,” Aech said. “It probably would have only taken you another five

years.”“Comeon,Aech,”Isaid,steppingbetweenthem.“Thisisn’thelping.”AechandDaitoglaredateachother insilence,whileShotostaredupathis

brother uncertainly. Art3mis just stood back and watched, looking somewhatamused.“Wedidn’tcomeheretobeinsulted,”Daitosaidfinally.“We’releaving.”“Holdon,Daito,”Isaid.“Justwaitasecond,willyou?Let’sjusttalkthisout.

Weshouldn’tpartasenemies.We’reallonthesamesidehere.”“No,”Daitosaid.“We’renot.You’reallstrangerstous.Forallweknow,any

oneofyoucouldbeaSixerspy.”Art3mislaughedoutloudatthat,thencoveredhermouth.Daitoignoredher.

“Thisispointless,”hesaid.“Onlyonepersoncanbethefirsttofindtheeggandwintheprize,”hesaid.“Andthatpersonwillbeeithermeormybrother.”Andwiththat,DaitoandShotobothabruptlyloggedout.“Thatwentwell,”Art3missaid,oncetheiravatarshadvanished.Inodded.“Yeah,realsmooth,Aech.Waytobuildbridges.”“Whatdid Ido?”hesaiddefensively.“Daitowasbeingacompleteasshole!

Besides, it’snot likewewereaskinghim to teamup, anyway. I’manavowedsolo.Andsoareyou.AndArt3misherelookslikethelone-wolftypetoo.”“Guiltyascharged,”shesaid,grinning.“Butevenso,thereisanargumentto

bemadeforforminganallianceagainsttheSixers.”“Maybe,” Aech said. “But think about it. If you find the Jade Key before

eitherofusdo,areyougoingtobegenerousandtelluswhereitis?”Art3missmirked.“Ofcoursenot.”“Meneither,”Aechsaid.“Sothere’snopointindiscussinganalliance.”Art3mis shrugged. “Well, then it looks like the meeting is over. I should

probablygetgoing.”Shewinkedatme.“Theclockisticking.Right,boys?”“Ticktock,”Isaid.“Goodluck,fellas.”Shegaveusbothawave.“Seeyaaround.”“Seeya,”webothansweredinunison.

Iwatchedheravatarslowlydisappear,thenturnedtofindAechsmilingatme.“Whatareyougrinningabout?”Iasked.“You’vegotacrushonher,don’tyou?”“What?OnArt3mis?No—”“Don’t deny it,Z.Youweremakinggoogly eyes at her thewhole time she

washere.”Hedidhis impressionof this, claspingbothhands tohis chest andbattinghiseyelashes likeasilent filmstar.“I recorded thewholechatsession.Doyouwantmetoplayitbackforyou,soyoucanseehowsillyyoulooked?”“Stopbeingadick.”“It’sunderstandable,man,”Aechsaid.“Thatgirlissupercute.”“So,haveyouhadanyluckwiththenewriddle?”Isaid,deliberatelychanging

thesubject.“ThatquatrainabouttheJadeKey?”“Quatrain?”“ ‘A poem or stanzawith four lines and an alternating rhyme scheme,’ ” I

recited.“It’scalledaquatrain.”Aechrolledhiseyes.“You’retoomuch,man.”“What?That’sthepropertermforit,asshead!”“It’sjustariddle,dude.Andno.Ihaven’thadanyluckfiguringitoutyet.”“Meneither,”Isaid.“Soweprobablyshouldn’tbestandingaroundjabbering

ateachother.Timetoputournosestothegrindstone.”“Iconcur,”hesaid.“But—”Justthen,astackofcomicbooksontheothersideoftheroomslidofftheend

table where they were piled and crashed to the floor, as if something hadknockedthemover.AechandIbothjumped,thenexchangedconfusedlooks.“Whatthehellwasthat?”Isaid.“I don’t know.” Aech walked over and examined the scattered comics.

“Maybeasoftwareglitchorsomething?”“I’ve never seen a chat-room glitch like that,” I said, scanning the empty

room. “Could someone elsebe inhere?An invisible avatar, eavesdroppingonus?”Aechrolledhiseyes.“Noway,Z,”hesaid.“You’regettingwaytooparanoid.

Thisisanencryptedprivatechatroom.Noonecanenterwithoutmypermission.Youknowthat.”“Right,”Isaid,stillfreakedout.“Relax. Itwas a glitch.”He rested a handonmy shoulder. “Listen.Letme

knowifyouchangeyourmindaboutneedingaloan.Oraplacetocrash.OK?”“I’llbeallright,”Isaid.“Butthanks,amigo.”Webumpedfistsagain,liketheWonderTwinsactivatingtheirpowers.“I’llcatchyoulater.Goodluck,Z.”

“Sametoyou,Aech.”

Afewhourslater,theremainingslotsontheScoreboardbegantofillup,oneafteranother,inrapidsuccession.Notwithavatarnames,butwithIOIemployeenumbers.Eachwouldappearwithascoreof5,000points(whichnowappearedtobethefixedvalueforobtainingtheCopperKey);thenthescorewouldjumpbyanother100,000pointsafewhourslater,oncethatSixerhadclearedtheFirstGate.Bytheendoftheday,theScoreboardlookedlikethis:

HIGHSCORES:1.Parzival 110,000 2.Art3mis 109,000 3.Aech 108,000 4.Daito 107,000 5.Shoto 106,000 6.IOI-655321 105,000 7.IOI-643187 105,000 8.IOI-621671 105,000 9.IOI-678324 105,000 10.IOI-637330 105,000 I recognized the first Sixer employee number to appear, because I’d seen it

printedonSorrento’suniform.He’dprobablyinsistedthathisavatarbethefirsttoobtaintheCopperKeyandclearthegate.ButIhadahardtimebelievinghe’ddoneitonhisown.TherewasnowayhewasthatgoodatJoust.OrthatheknewWarGamesbyheart.ButInowknewthathedidn’thavetobe.Whenhereachedachallengehecouldn’thandle,likewinningatJoust,hecouldjusthandcontrolofhisavataroff tooneofhisunderlings.AndduringtheWarGameschallenge

he’dprobablyjusthadsomeonefeedinghimallof thedialogueviahishackedimmersionrig.Oncetheremainingemptyslotswerefilled,theScoreboardbegantogrowin

length,todisplayrankingsbeyondtenthplace.Beforelong,twentyavatarswerelistedontheScoreboard.Thenthirty.Overthenexttwenty-fourhours,oversixtySixeravatarsclearedtheFirstGate.Meanwhile, Ludus had become themost popular destination in theOASIS.

Transport terminals all over the planet were spitting out a steady stream ofgunters who then swarmed across the globe, creating chaos and disruptingclasses on every school campus. The OASIS Public School Board saw thewritingonthewall,andthedecisionwasquicklymadetoevacuateLudusandrelocate all of its schools to a new location. An identical copy of the planet,LudusII,wascreatedinthesamesector,ashortdistanceawayfromtheoriginal.All students were given a day off from school while a backup copy of theplanet’soriginalsourcecodewascopiedovertothenewsite(minustheTombofHorrorscodeHallidayhadsecretlyaddedtoitatsomepoint).ClassesresumedonLudusIIthefollowingday,andLuduswasleftfortheSixersandgunterstofightover.News spread quickly that the Sixers were encamped around a small flat-

toppedhillatthecenterofaremoteforest.Thetomb’sexactlocationappearedon themessageboards that evening, alongwith screenshots showing the forcefield theSixers had erected to keep everyone else out. These screenshots alsoclearlyshowedtheskullpatternofthestonesonthehilltop.Inamatterofhours,theconnectiontotheTombofHorrorsD&Dmodulewaspostedtoeverysingleguntermessageboard.Thenithitthenewsfeeds.All of the large gunter clans immediately banded together to launch a full-

scaleassaultontheSixers’forcefield, tryingeverythingtheycouldthinkoftobringitdownorcircumventit.TheSixershadinstalledteleportationdisruptors,which prevented anyone from transporting inside the force field viatechnological means. They had also stationed a team of high-level wizardsaround the tomb.Thesemagic users cast spells around the clock, keeping theentire area encased in a temporary null-magic zone. This prevented the forcefieldsfrombeingbypassedbyanymagicalmeans.Theclansbegantobombardtheouterforcefieldwithrockets,missiles,nukes,

and harsh language. They laid siege to the tomb all night, but the followingmorning,bothforcefieldsremainedintact.Indesperation,theclansdecidedtobreakouttheheavyartillery.Theypooled

their resources and purchased two very expensive, very powerful antimatterbombsoneBay.Theydetonatedbothof them in sequence, just a few seconds

apart.Thefirstbombtookdowntheoutershield,andthesecondbombfinishedthejob.Themomentthesecondforcefieldwentdown,thousandsofgunters(allunharmedbythebombblasts,dueto theno-PvPzone)swarmedintothetombandcloggedthecorridorsofthedungeonbelow.Soon,thousandsofgunters(andSixers)hadcrammedintotheburialchamber,allreadytochallengethelichkingtoagameof Joust.Multiplecopiesof thekingappeared,one foreveryavatarwhosetfootonthedais.Ninety-fivepercentofthegunterswhochallengedhimlostandwerethenkilled.Butafewguntersweresuccessful,andatthebottomof the Scoreboard, listed after theHigh Five and the dozens of IOI employeenumbers, new avatar names began to appear. Within a few days, the list ofavatarsontheScoreboardwasoverahundrednameslong.Nowthattheareawasfullofgunters,itbecameimpossiblefortheSixersto

put their force field back in operation. Gunters were mobbing them anddestroying their ships and equipment on sight. So the Sixers gave up on theirbarricade,but theycontinuedtosendavatars into theTombofHorrors tofarmcopiesoftheCopperKey.Noonecoulddoanythingtostopthem.

Thedayaftertheexplosioninthestacks,therewasabriefstoryaboutitononeof the localnewsfeeds.Theyshowedavideoclipofvolunteerssifting throughthewreckageforhumanremains.Whattheydidfindcouldn’tbeidentified.It seemed that the Sixers had also planted a large amount of drug-

manufacturingequipmentandchemicalsatthescene,tomakeitlooklikeamethlabinoneofthetrailershadexploded.Itworkedlikeacharm.Thecopsdidn’tbother to investigate any further. The stackswere so dense around the pile ofcrushed and charred trailers that itwas toodangerous to try to clear themoutwithoneoftheoldconstructioncranes.Theyjustleftthewreckagewhereitwas,toslowlyrustintotheearth.Assoonas thefirstendorsementpaymentarrivedinmyaccount,Iboughta

one-way bus ticket to Columbus, Ohio, set to depart at eight the followingmorning.Ipaidextraforafirst-classseat,whichcamewithacomfierchairanda high-bandwidth uplink jack. I planned to spend most of the long ride eastloggedintotheOASIS.Oncemytripwasbooked,Iinventoriedeverythinginmyhideoutandpacked

the items I wanted to take with me into an old rucksack. My school-issuedOASISconsole,visor,andgloves.Mydog-earedprintoutofAnorak’sAlmanac.Mygraildiary.Someclothes.Mylaptop.EverythingelseIleftbehind.Whenitgotdark,Iclimbedoutofthevan,lockedit,andhurledthekeysoff

intothejunkpile.ThenIhoistedtherucksackandwalkedoutofthestacksfor

thelasttime.Ididn’tlookback.Ikepttobusystreetsandmanagedtoavoidgettingmuggedonthewaytothe

bus terminal.Abatteredcustomer-servicekioskstood just inside thedoor,andafteraquickretinalscanitspatoutmyticket.Isatbythegate,readingmycopyoftheAlmanac,untilitwastimetoboardthebus.It was a double-decker, with armor plating, bulletproofwindows, and solar

panelsontheroof.Arollingfortress.Ihadawindowseat,tworowsbehindthedriver,whowas encased in abulletproofPlexiglasbox.A teamof sixheavilyarmed guards rode on the bus’s upper deck, to protect the vehicle and itspassengersintheeventofahijackingbyroadagentsorscavengers—adistinctpossibility once we ventured out into the lawless badlands that now existedoutsideofthesafetyoflargecities.Everysingleseatonthebuswasoccupied.Mostofthepassengersputontheir

visors the moment they sat down. I left mine off for a while, though. Longenoughtowatchthecityofmybirthrecedefromviewontheroadbehindusaswerolledthroughtheseaofwindturbinesthatsurroundedit.Thebus’selectricmotorhadatopspeedofaboutfortymilesanhour,butdue

tothedeterioratinginterstatehighwaysystemandthecountlessstopsthebushadtomakeatchargingstationsalongtheway,ittookseveraldaysformetoreachmydestination.IspentnearlyallofthattimeloggedintotheOASIS,preparingtostartmynewlife.The first order of business was to create a new identity. This wasn’t that

difficult,nowthatIhadsomemoney.IntheOASIS,youcouldbuyalmostanykindofinformationifyouknewwheretolookandwhotoask,andifyoudidn’tmind breaking the law. There were plenty of desperate and corrupt peopleworkingforthegovernment(andforeverymajorcorporation),andthesepeopleoftensoldinformationontheOASISblackmarket.My new status as a world-famous gunter gaveme all kinds of underworld

credibility,whichhelpedmegetaccesstoahighlyexclusiveillegaldata-auctionsiteknownastheL33tHax0rzWarezhaus,andforashockinglysmallamountofmoney,IwasabletopurchaseaseriesofaccessproceduresandpasswordsfortheUSCR(UnitedStatesCitizenRegistry)database.Usingthese,Iwasabletolog into the database and access my existing citizen profile, which had beencreatedwhenIenrolledforschool.Ideletedmyfingerprintsandretinalpatterns,thenreplacedthemwiththoseofsomeonedeceased(myfather).ThenIcopiedmyownfingerprintsandretinalpatterns intoacompletelynewidentityprofilethat I’dcreated,under thenameBryceLynch. ImadeBryce twenty-twoyearsold and gave him a brand-new Social Security number, an immaculate creditrating,andabachelor’sdegreeinComputerScience.WhenIwantedtobecome

myold self again, all I had to dowas delete theLynch identity and copymyprintsandretinalpatternsbackovertomyoriginalfile.Oncemynewidentitywassetup,IbegansearchingtheColumbusclassifieds

forasuitableapartmentandfoundarelativelyinexpensiveroominanoldhigh-risehotel,arelicfromthedayswhenpeoplephysicallytraveledforbusinessandpleasure.Theroomshadallbeenconvertedintoone-roomefficiencyapartments,andeachunithadbeenmodified tomeet theveryspecificneedsofafull-timegunter. It had everything Iwanted. Low rent, a high-end security system, andsteady,reliableaccesstoasmuchelectricityasIcouldafford.Mostimportant,itoffered a direct fiber-optic connection to themainOASIS server vault,whichwaslocatedjustafewmilesaway.ThiswasthefastestandmostsecuretypeofInternetconnectionavailable,andsinceitwasn’tprovidedbyIOIoroneof itssubsidiaries, I wouldn’t have to be paranoid about them monitoring myconnectionortryingtotracemylocation.Iwouldbesafe.Ispokewitharentalagentinachatroom,andheshowedmearoundavirtual

mock-upofmynewdigs.Theplacelookedperfect.Irentedtheroomundermynewnameandpaidsixmonths’rentupfront.Thatkept theagentfromaskinganyquestions.

Sometimes,duringthelatehoursofthenight,asthebusslowlyhummedalongthecrumblinghighway,Iremovedmyvisorandstaredoutthewindow.I’dneverbeenoutsideofOklahomaCitybefore,andIwascurioustoseewhattherestofthecountrylookedlike.Buttheviewwasperpetuallybleak,andeachdecaying,overcrowdedcitywerolledthroughlookedjustlikethelast.Finally,afteritfeltlikewe’dbeencrawlingalongthehighwayformonths,the

Columbusskylineappearedon thehorizon,glittering likeOzat theendof theyellow brick road. We arrived around sunset, and already there were moreelectric lights burning in the city than I’d ever seen at one time. I’d read thatgiantsolararrayswerepositionedthroughout thecity,alongwith twoheliostatpowerplantsonitsoutskirts.Theydrankinthesun’spowerallday,storedit,andfeditbackouteachnight.AswepulledintotheColumbusbusterminal,myOASISconnectioncutout.

As I pulled off my visor and filed off the bus with the other passengers, thereality ofmy situation finally began to hit home. Iwas now a fugitive, livingunderanassumedname.Powerfulpeoplewereoutlookingforme.Peoplewhowantedmedead.AsIsteppedoffthebus,Isuddenlyfeltasthoughaheavyweightwereresting

onmychest. Iwashavingahard timebreathing.MaybeIwashavingapanic

attack.Iforcedmyselftotakedeepbreathsandtriedtocalmdown.AllIhadtodowastogettomynewapartment,setupmyrig,andlogbackintotheOASIS.Theneverythingwouldbeallright.Iwouldbebackinfamiliarsurroundings.Iwouldbesafe.I hailed an autocab and entered my new address on the touchscreen. The

synthesized voice of the cab’s computer told me the drive would take anestimatedthirty-twominuteswiththecurrenttrafficconditions.Duringtheride,I stared out the window at the dark city streets. I still felt light-headed andanxious. I kept glancing at themeter to see howmuch farther we had to go.Finally, the cabpulledup in front ofmynewapartment building, a slate-graymonolithonthebanksoftheScioto,justattheedgeoftheTwinRiversghetto.Inoticedadiscoloredoutlineonthebuilding’sfaçadewheretheHiltonlogousedtobe,backwhentheplacehadbeenahotel.I thumbed my fare and climbed out of the cab. Then I took one last look

around, inhaled one final breath of fresh air, and carriedmy bag through thefront door and into the lobby.When I stepped inside the security checkpointcage, my fingerprints and retinal patterns were scanned, and my new nameflashedonthemonitor.Agreenlightlitupandthecagedoorslidopen,allowingmetocontinueontotheelevators.Myapartmentwasontheforty-secondfloor,number4211.Thesecuritylock

mountedoutsiderequiredanotherretinalscan.Thenthedoorslidopenandtheinteriorlightsswitchedon.Therewasnofurnitureinthecube-shapedroom,andonly onewindow. I stepped inside, closed the door, and locked it behindme.ThenImadeasilentvownottogooutsideagainuntilIhadcompletedmyquest.IwouldabandontherealworldaltogetheruntilIfoundtheegg.

I’mnotcrazyaboutreality,butit’sstilltheonlyplacetogetadecentmeal.

—GrouchoMarx

Art3mis:Youthere?Parzival:Yes!Hey!Ican’tbelieveyoufinallyrespondedtooneofmychatrequests.

Art3mis:Onlytoaskyoutocutitout.It’sabadideaforustostartchatting.Parzival:Why?Ithoughtwewerefriends.Art3mis:Youseemlikeagreatguy.Butwe’recompetitors.Rivalgunters.Swornenemies.Youknowthedrill.

Parzival:Wedon’thavetotalkaboutanythingrelatedtotheHunt.…Art3mis:EverythingisrelatedtotheHunt.Parzival:Come on.At least give it at shot. Let’s start over.Hi,Art3mis!Howhaveyoubeen?

Art3mis:Fine.Thanksforasking.You?Parzival:Outstanding.Listen,whyareweusingthisancienttext-onlychatinterface?Icanhostavirtualchatroomforus.

Art3mis:Ipreferthis.Parzival:Why?Art3mis:Asyoumayrecall,Itendtorambleinrealtime.WhenIhavetotypeouteverythingIwanttosay,Icomeoffaslessofaflibbertigibbet.

Parzival:Idon’tthinkyou’reaflibbertigibbet.You’reenchanting.Art3mis:Didyoujustusetheword“enchanting”?Parzival:WhatItypedisrightthereinfrontofyou,isn’tit?Art3mis:That’sverysweet.Butyou’refullofcrap.Parzival:Iamtotallyandcompletelyserious.Art3mis:So,how’slifeatthetopoftheScoreboard,hotshot?Sickofbeingfamousyet?

Parzival:Idon’tfeelfamous.Art3mis:Areyoukidding?Thewholeworldisdyingtofindoutwhoyoureallyare.You’rearockstar,man.

Parzival:You’re justasfamousasIam.AndifI’msucharockstar,howcomethemediaalwaysportraysmeassomeunwashedgeekwhonevergoesoutside?

Art3mis:ItakeityousawthatSNLskittheydidaboutus?Parzival:Yes.WhydoeseveryoneassumeI’manantisocialnutjob?Art3mis:You’renotantisocial?Parzival:No!Maybe.OK,yes.ButIhaveexcellentpersonalhygiene.Art3mis:Atleasttheygotyourgendercorrect.EveryonethinksI’mamaninreallife.

Parzival:That’sbecausemostgunters aremale, and theycan’t accept theideathatawomanhasbeatenand/oroutsmartedthem.

Art3mis:Iknow.Neanderthals.Parzival:Soyou’retellingme,definitively,thatyouareafemale?IRL?Art3mis:Youshouldhavealreadyfiguredthatoutonyourown,Clouseau.Parzival:Idid.Ihave.Art3mis:Haveyou?Parzival:Yes.After analyzing the available data, I’ve concluded that youmustbeafemale.

Art3mis:WhymustI?Parzival:BecauseIdon’twanttofindoutthatI’vegotacrushonsome300lb.dudenamedChuckwho lives inhismother’sbasement insuburbanDetroit.

Art3mis:You’vegotacrushonme?Parzival:Youshouldhavealreadyfiguredthatoutonyourown,Clouseau.Art3mis:What if Iwere a 300 lb. gal namedCharlene,who lives in hermom’sbasement in suburbanDetroit?Wouldyou still have a crushonmethen?

Parzival:Idon’tknow.Doyouliveinyourmother’sbasement?Art3mis:No.Parzival:Yeah.ThenIprobablystillwould.Art3mis: So I’m supposed to believe you’re one of those mythical guyswhoonlycaresaboutawoman’spersonality,andnotaboutthepackageitcomesin?

Parzival:WhyisitthatyouassumeI’maman?Art3mis:Please.It’sobvious.Igetnothingbutboy-vibescomingfromyou.Parzival: Boy-vibes? What, do I use masculine sentence structure orsomething?

Art3mis:Don’tchange thesubject.Youweresayingyouhaveacrushonme?

Parzival:I’vehadacrushonyousincebeforeweevenmet.Fromreadingyour blog and watching your POV. I’ve been cyber-stalking you foryears.

Art3mis: But you still don’t really know anything aboutme.Ormy realpersonality.

Parzival: This is the OASIS.We exist as nothing but raw personality inhere.

Art3mis: I beg to differ. Everything about our online personas is filteredthroughouravatars,whichallowsustocontrolhowwelookandsoundtoothers.TheOASIS letsyoubewhoeveryouwant tobe.That’swhyeveryoneisaddictedtoit.

Parzival: So, IRL, you’re nothing like the person Imet that night in thetomb?

Art3mis:Thatwasjustonesideofme.ThesideIchosetoshowyou.Parzival:Well, I liked that side.And if you showedmeyour other sides,I’msureI’dlikethose,too.

Art3mis:Yousaythatnow.ButIknowhowthesethingswork.Soonerorlater,you’lldemandtoseeapictureoftherealme.

Parzival:I’mnotthesortwhomakesdemands.Besides,I’mdefinitelynotgoingtoshowyouaphotoofme.

Art3mis:Why?Areyoubuttugly?Parzival:You’resuchahypocrite!Art3mis:So?Answerthequestion,Claire.Areyouugly?Parzival:Imustbe.Art3mis:Why?Parzival:Thefemaleofthespecieshasalwaysfoundmerepellent.Art3mis:Idon’tfindyourepellent.Parzival:Ofcoursenot.That’sbecauseyou’reanobesemannamedChuckwholikestochatupuglyyoungboysonline.

Art3mis:Soyou’reayoungman?Parzival:Relativelyyoung.Art3mis:Relativetowhat?Parzival:Toafifty-three-year-oldguylikeyou,Chuck.Doesyourmomletyouliveinthatbasementrent-freeorwhat?

Art3mis:Isthatreallywhatyou’repicturing?Parzival:Ifitwere,Iwouldn’tbechattingwithyourightnow.Art3mis:SowhatdoyouimagineIlooklike,then?Parzival:Likeyouravatar,Isuppose.Except,youknow,withoutthearmor,guns,orglowingsword.

Art3mis:You’rekidding,right?That’sthefirstruleofonlineromances,pal.Nooneeverlooksanythingliketheiravatar.

Parzival:Arewegoingtohaveanonlineromance?<crossesfingers>Art3mis:Noway,ace.Sorry.Parzival:Whynot?Art3mis:Notimeforlove,Dr.Jones.Mycyber-pornaddictioneatsupmostofmyfreetime.AndsearchingfortheJadeKeytakesuptherest.That’swhatIshouldbedoingrightnow,infact.

Parzival:Yeah.SoshouldI.Buttalkingtoyouismorefun.Art3mis:Howaboutyou?Parzival:Howaboutmewhat?Art3mis:Doyouhavetimeforanonlineromance?Parzival:I’vegottimeforyou.Art3mis:You’retoomuch.Parzival:I’mnotevenlayingitonthickyet.Art3mis:Doyouhaveajob?Orareyoustillinhighschool?Parzival:Highschool.Igraduatenextweek.Art3mis:Youshouldn’trevealstufflikethat!IcouldbeaSixerspytryingtoprofileyou.

Parzival: The Sixers already profiled me, remember? They blew up myhouse.Well,itwasatrailer.Buttheyblewitup.

Art3mis: Iknow.I’mstill freakedoutabout that. Icanonly imaginehowyoufeel.

Parzival:Revengeisadishbestservedcold.Art3mis:Bonappetit.Whatdoyoudowhenyou’renothunting?Parzival: I refuse to answer any more questions until you startreciprocating.

Art3mis:Fine.Quidproquo,Dr.Lecter.We’lltaketurnsaskingquestions.Goahead.

Parzival:Doyouwork,orgotoschool?Art3mis:College.Parzival:Studyingwhat?Art3mis:It’smyturn.Whatdoyoudowhenyou’renothunting?Parzival: Nothing. Hunting is all I do. I’m hunting right now, in fact.Multitaskingalloverthegoddamnplace.

Art3mis:Samehere.Parzival:Really?I’llkeepaneyeontheScoreboardthen.Justincase.Art3mis:Youdothat,ace.Parzival:Whatareyoustudying?Incollege?

Art3mis:PoetryandCreativeWriting.Parzival:Thatmakessense.You’reafantasticwriter.Art3mis:Thanksforthecompliment.Howoldareyou?Parzival:Justturned18lastmonth.You?Art3mis:Don’tyouthinkwe’regettingalittletoopersonalnow?Parzival:Notevenremotely.Art3mis:19.Parzival:Ah.Anolderwoman.Hot.Art3mis:Thatis,ifIamawoman…Parzival:Areyouawoman?Art3mis:It’snotyourturn.Parzival:Fine.Art3mis:HowwelldoyouknowAech?Parzival:He’sbeenmybestfriendforfiveyears.Now,spill it.Areyouawoman?AndbythatImeanareyouahumanfemalewhohasneverhadasex-changeoperation?

Art3mis:That’sprettyspecific.Parzival:Answerthequestion,Claire.Art3mis:Iam,andalwayshavebeen,ahumanfemale.HaveyouevermetAechIRL?

Parzival:No.Doyouhaveanysiblings?Art3mis:No.You?Parzival:Nope.Yougotparents?Art3mis:Theydied.Theflu.SoIwasraisedbymygrandparents.Yougotparentage?

Parzival:No.Minearedeadtoo.Art3mis:Itkindasucks,doesn’tit?Nothavingyourparentsaround.Parzival:Yeah.Butalotofpeopleareworseoffthanme.Art3mis:Itellmyselfthatallthetime.So…areyouandAechworkingasaduo?

Parzival:Oh,herewego.…Art3mis:Well?Areyou?Parzival:No.He askedme the same thing about you andme, youknow.BecauseyouclearedtheFirstGateafewhoursafterIdid.

Art3mis: Which reminds me—why did you give me that tip? AboutchangingsidesontheJoustgame?

Parzival:Ifeltlikehelpingyou.Art3mis:Well,youshouldn’tmakethatmistakeagain.BecauseI’mtheonewho’sgoingtowin.Youdorealizethat,right?

Parzival:Yeah,yeah.We’llsee.Art3mis:You’renotholdingupyourendofourQ&A,goof.You’re,like,fivequestionsbehind.

Parzival:Fine.Whatcolorisyourhair?IRL?Art3mis:Brunette.Parzival:Eyes?Art3mis:Blue.Parzival: Just likeyour avatar, eh?Doyouhave the same face andbody,too?

Art3mis:Asfarasyouknow.Parzival:OK.What’syourfavoritemovie?Ofalltime?Art3mis:Itchanges.Rightnow?ProbablyHighlander.Parzival:You’vegotgreattaste,lady.Art3mis:Iknow.Ihaveathingforevilbaldbadguys.TheKurganistoosexy.

Parzival:I’mgoingtoshavemyheadrightnow.Andstartwearingleather.Art3mis:Sendphotos.Listen,Igottagoinafewminutes,Romeo.Youcanaskmeonelastquestion.ThenIneedtogetsomesleep.

Parzival:Whencanwechatagain?Art3mis:Afteroneofusfindstheegg.Parzival:Thatcouldtakeyears.Art3mis:Sobeit.Parzival:CanIatleastkeepe-mailingyou?Art3mis:Notagoodidea.Parzival:Youcan’tstopmefrome-mailingyou.Art3mis:Actually,Ican.Icanblockyouonmycontactlist.Parzival:Youwouldn’tdothat,though.Wouldyou?Art3mis:Notifyoudon’tforcemeto.Parzival:Harsh.Unnecessarilyharsh.Art3mis:Goodnight,Parzival.Parzival:Farewell,Art3mis.Sweetdreams.chatlogends.2.27.2045–02:51:38OST

I started e-mailing her. At first I showed restraint and only wrote her once aweek. Tomy surprise, she never failed to respond.Usually itwaswith just asinglesentence,sayingshewastoobusytoreply.Butherreplieseventuallygotlongerandwebegantocorrespond.Afewtimesaweekatfirst.Then,asoure-

mailsgrewlongerandmorepersonal,westartedwritingeachotheratleastoncea day. Sometimesmore.Whenever an e-mail from her arrived inmy inbox, Idroppedeverythingtoreadit.Before long,weweremeeting in private chat-room sessions at least once a

day.Weplayedvintageboardgames,watchedmovies,andlistenedtomusic.Wetalkedforhours.Long,ramblingconversationsabouteverythingunderthesun.Spending time with her was intoxicating. We seemed to have everything incommon.Wesharedthesameinterests.Weweredrivenbythesamegoal.Shegotallofmyjokes.Shemademelaugh.Shemademethink.ShechangedthewayIsawtheworld.I’dneverhadsuchapowerful,immediateconnectionwithanotherhumanbeingbefore.NotevenwithAech.Inolongercaredthatweweresupposedtoberivals,andshedidn’tseemto

either.We began to share details about our research.We told each otherwhatmovieswewerecurrentlywatchingandwhatbookswewerereading.Weevenbegan to exchange theories and to discuss our interpretations of specificpassagesintheAlmanac.Icouldn’tmakemyselfbecautiousaroundher.Alittlevoice in my head kept trying to tell me that every word she said could bedisinformation and that shemight just be playingme for a fool. But I didn’tbelieveit.Itrustedher,eventhoughIhadeveryreasonnotto.I graduated from high school in early June. I didn’t attend the graduation

ceremony.I’dstoppedattendingclassesaltogetherwhenIfledthestacks.Asfaras Iknew, theSixers thought Iwasdead,and Ididn’twant to tip themoffbyshowingupformylastfewweeksofschool.Missingfinalsweekwasn’tabigdeal,sinceIalreadyhadmorethanenoughcredits toreceivemydiploma.Theschoole-mailedacopyofittome.Theysnail-mailedtheactualdiplomatomyaddressinthestacks,whichnolongerexisted,soIdon’tknowwhatbecameofit.WhenIfinishedschool,I’dintendedtodevoteallofmytimetotheHunt.But

allIreallywantedtodowasspendtimewithArt3mis.

WhenIwasn’thangingoutwithmynewonlinepseudo-girlfriend,Idevotedtherestofmytimetolevelingupmyavatar.Gunterscalledthis“makingtheclimbto ninety-nine,” because ninety-ninth level was the maximum power level anavatar could attain. Art3mis and Aech had both recently done it, and I feltcompelledtocatchup.Itactuallydidn’t takemeverylong.Inowhadnothingbutfreetime,andIhadthemoneyandthemeanstofullyexploretheOASIS.SoI began to complete every quest I could find, sometimes jumping five or sixlevelsinoneday.Ibecameasplit-classWarrior/Mage.Asmystatscontinuedto

increase,Ihonedmyavatar’scombatandspell-castingabilitieswhilecollectingawidearrayofpowerfulweapons,magicitems,andvehicles.Art3mis and I even teamed up for a few quests. We visited the planet

Goondocks and finished the entireGoonies quest in just one day.Arty playedthrough itasMarthaPlimpton’scharacter,Stef,while IplayedasMikey,SeanAstin’scharacter.Itwasentirelytoomuchfun.Ididn’tspendallofmytimegoofingoff.Itriedtokeepmyheadinthegame.

ReallyIdid.Atleastonceaday,IwouldpulluptheQuatrainandtryonceagaintodecipheritsmeaning.

ThecaptainconcealstheJadeKeyinadwellinglongneglected

Butyoucanonlyblowthewhistleoncethetrophiesareallcollected

Forawhile,Ithoughtthatthewhistleinthethirdlinemightbeareferenceto

alate-’60sJapaneseTVshowcalledTheSpaceGiants,whichhadbeendubbedinEnglishandrebroadcastintheUnitedStatesinthe’70sand’80s.TheSpaceGiants(calledMagumaTaishiinJapan)featuredafamilyoftransformingrobotswholivedinavolcanoandbattledanevilalienvillainnamedRodak.HallidayreferredtothisshowseveraltimesinAnorak’sAlmanac,citing itasoneofhischildhoodfavorites.Oneoftheshow’smaincharacterswasaboynamedMiko,whowouldblowaspecialwhistletosummontherobotstohisaid.Iwatchedallfifty-two ultra-cheesy episodes of The Space Giants, back-to-back, whilewolfingdowncornchipsandtakingnotes.Butwhentheviewingmarathonwasover, I stillwasn’t any closer tounderstanding theQuatrain’smeaning. I’dhitanother dead end. I decided that Halliday must be referring to some otherwhistle.Then, one Saturday morning, I finally made a small breakthrough. I was

watching a collection of vintage ’80s cereal commercials when I paused towonder why cereal manufacturers no longer included toy prizes inside everybox. Itwas a tragedy, inmyopinion.Another sign that civilizationwasgoingstraight down the tubes. Iwas still pondering thiswhen an oldCap’nCrunchcommercialcameon,andthatwaswhenImadeaconnectionbetweenthefirstand third linesof theQuatrain:Thecaptainconceals theJadeKey…Butyoucanonlyblowthewhistle…Halliday was alluding to a famous ’70s hacker named John Draper, better

knownbythealiasCaptainCrunch.Draperwasoneofthefirstphonephreaks,andhewasfamousfordiscoveringthatthetoyplasticwhistlesfoundasprizesin

boxesofCap’nCrunchcerealcouldbeused tomakefree long-distancephonecalls,because theyemitteda2600-hertz tone that tricked theoldanalogphonesystemintogivingyoufreeaccesstotheline.ThecaptainconcealstheJadeKeyThathadtobeit.“Thecaptain”wasCap’nCrunch,and“thewhistle”wasthe

famoustoyplasticwhistleofphonephreaklore.MaybetheJadeKeywasdisguisedasoneofthosetoyplasticwhistles,andit

washiddeninaboxofCap’nCrunchcereal.…Butwherewasthatcerealboxhidden?InadwellinglongneglectedIstilldidn’tknowwhatlong-neglecteddwellingthatlinereferredto,orwhere

tolookforit.IvisitedeveryneglecteddwellingIcouldthinkof.Re-creationsoftheAddamsFamilyhouse, theabandonedshackin theEvilDead trilogy,TylerDurden’s flophouse inFight Club, and the Lars Homestead on Tattooine. NoluckfindingtheJadeKeyinsideanyofthem.Deadendafterdeadend.

ButyoucanonlyblowthewhistleOncethetrophiesareallcollected

Istillhadn’tdecipheredthemeaningofthatlastline,either.Whattrophiesdid

Ihavetocollect?Orwasthatsomekindofhalf-assedmetaphor?TherehadtobeasimpleconnectionIwasn’tmaking,aslyreferencethatIstillwasn’tcleverorknowledgeableenoughtocatch.Since then, I’d failed tomakeanymoreprogress.Every timeI revisited the

Quatrain,myongoinginfatuationwithArt3miswouldunderminemyabilitytofocus,andbeforelongIwouldclosemygraildiaryandcallheruptoseeifshewantedtohangout.Shealmostalwaysdid.Iconvincedmyselfthatitwasallrighttoslackoffabit,becausenooneelse

seemed to be making any progress in their search for the Jade Key. TheScoreboardremainedunchanged.EveryoneelseseemedtobejustasstumpedasIwas.

As the weeks continued to pass, Art3mis and I spent more and more timetogether. Evenwhen our avatarswere doing other things,wewere sending e-mailsandinstantmessagestoeachother.Ariverofwordsflowedbetweenus.Iwantedmorethananythingtomeetherintherealworld.Face-to-face.ButI

didn’ttellherthis.Iwascertainshehadstrongfeelingsforme,butshealsokeptme at a distance.Nomatter howmuch I revealed aboutmyself to her—and I

wounduprevealingjustabouteverything,includingmyrealname—shealwaysadamantlyrefusedtorevealanydetailsaboutherownlife.AllIknewwasthatshewasnineteenand that she lived somewhere in thePacificNorthwest.Thatwasallshewouldtellme.The image of her that formed in my mind was the most obvious one. I

picturedher as aphysicalmanifestationofher avatar. I imaginedherwith thesame face, eyes, hair, and body. Even though she told me repeatedly that inreality she lookedalmostnothing likeheravatarand that shewasn’tnearlyasattractiveinperson.WhenIbegantospendmostofmytimewithArt3mis,AechandIbeganto

growapart.Insteadofhangingoutseveraltimesaweek,wechattedafewtimesamonth.AechknewIwasfallingforArt3mis,buthenevergavemetoomuchgriefaboutit,evenwhenIwouldbailonhimatthelastminutetohangoutwithherinstead.Hewouldjustshrug,tellmetobecareful,andsay,“Isurehopeyouknowwhatyou’redoing,Z.”Ididn’t,ofcourse.MywholerelationshipwithArt3miswasindefianceofall

common sense. But I couldn’t help falling for her. Somehow, without myrealizingit,myobsessionwithfindingHalliday’sEastereggwasgraduallybeingsupplantedbymyobsessionwithArt3mis.Eventually, she and I began to go out on “dates,” taking day trips to exotic

OASIS locales and exclusive night spots. At first, Art3mis protested. ShethoughtIshouldkeepalowprofile,becauseassoonasmyavatarwasspottedinpublic,theSixerswouldknowthattheirattempttokillmehadfailed,andI’dbebackontheirhitlist.ButItoldherInolongercared.IwasalreadyhidingfromtheSixers in therealworld,andI refused tocontinuehidingfromthemin theOASIS,too.Besides,Ihadaninety-ninth-levelavatarnow.Ifeltnighinvincible.MaybeIwasjusttryingtoimpressArt3misbyactingfearless.Ifso,Ithinkit

worked.We still disguised our avatars before we went out, because we knew there

wouldbetabloidheadlinesgaloreifParzivalandArt3misstartedshowingupinpublictogetheronaregularbasis.Buttherewasoneexception.Onenight,shetookme tosee theRockyHorrorPictureShow inahugestadium-sizedmovietheaterontheplanetTranssexual,wheretheyheldthemosthighlyattendedandlongest-running weekly screening of the movie in the OASIS. Thousands ofavatars came to every show, to sit in the stands and revel in the audienceparticipation. Normally, only longstandingmembers of the RockyHorror FanClubwerepermittedtogetuponstageandhelpactout thefilminfrontof thegiantmoviescreen,andonlyafterthey’dpassedagruelingauditionprocess.ButArt3misusedherfametopullafewstrings,andsheandIwerebothallowedto

jointhecastforthatnight’sshow.Thewholeplanetwasinano-PvPzone,soIwasn’tworriedaboutgettingambushedby theSixers.ButIdidhaveaseriouscaseofstagefrightwhentheshowbegan.Art3misplayedanote-perfectColumbia,andIhad thehonorofplayingher

undead love interest, Eddie. I alteredmy avatar’s appearance so that I lookedexactlylikeMeatLoafdidintherole,butmyperformanceandlip-synchingstillkinda sucked. Luckily, the audience cut me a lot of slack, because I was thefamousgunterParzival,andIwasclearlyhavingablast.ThatnightwaseasilythemostfunI’deverhadinmylifeuptothatpoint.I

toldArt3missoafterward,andthatwaswhensheleanedoverandkissedmeforthefirsttime.Icouldn’tfeelit,ofcourse.Butitstillsetmyheartracing.I’dheardalltheclichédwarningsabouttheperilsoffallingforsomeoneyou

only knew online, but I ignored them. I decided that whoever Art3mis reallywas,Iwasinlovewithher.Icouldfeelit,deepinthesoft,chewycaramelcenterofmybeing.Andthenonenight,likeacompleteidiot,ItoldherhowIfelt.

Itwas a Friday night, and Iwas spending another solitary evening doingresearch,workingmywaythrougheveryepisodeofWhizKids,anearly-’80sTVshowaboutateenagehackerwhouseshiscomputerskillstosolvemysteries.I’djustfinishedwatchingtheepisode“DeadlyAccess”(acrossoverwithSimon&Simon)whenane-mail arrived inmy inbox. Itwas fromOgdenMorrow.Thesubjectlineread“WeCanDanceIfWeWantTo.”There was no text in the body of the e-mail. Just a file attachment—an

invitation to one of the most exclusive gatherings in the OASIS: OgdenMorrow’sbirthdayparty. In the realworld,Morrowalmostnevermadepublicappearances,andintheOASIS,hecameoutofhidingonlyonceayear,tohostthisevent.The invitation featuredaphotoofMorrow’sworld-famousavatar, theGreat

andPowerfulOg.Thegray-beardedwizardwashunchedoveranelaborateDJmixingboard,oneheadphonepressedtohisear,bitinghislowerlipinauditoryecstasy as his fingers scratched ancient vinyl on a set of silver turntables.HisrecordcrateboreaDON’TPANICstickerandananti-Sixerlogo—ayellownumbersixwitharedcircle-and-slashoverit.Thetextatthebottomread

OgdenMorrow’s’80sDancePartyincelebrationofhis73rdbirthday!

Tonight—10pmOSTattheDistractedGlobeADMITONE

Iwasflabbergasted.OgdenMorrowhadactuallytakenthetimetoinviteme

tohisbirthdayparty.ItfeltlikethegreatesthonorI’deverreceived.IcalledArt3mis,andsheconfirmedthatshe’dreceivedthesamee-mail.She

said she couldn’t pass up an invitation from Og himself, despite the obviousrisks.So,naturally,ItoldherIwouldmeetherthereattheclub.ItwastheonlywayIcouldavoidlookinglikeatotalwuss.

I knew that ifOg had invited the two of us, he’d probably also invited theothermembersoftheHighFive.ButAechprobablywouldn’tshowup,becausehecompeted inaglobally televisedarenadeathmatcheveryFridaynight.AndShotoandDaitoneverenteredaPvPzoneunlessitwasabsolutelynecessary.The Distracted Globe was a famous zero-gravity dance club on the planet

NeonoirinSectorSixteen.OgdenMorrowhadcodedtheplacehimselfdecadesago and was still its sole owner. I’d never visited the Globe before. I wasn’tmuch for dancing, or for socializing with the twinked-out wannabe-gunterüberdorkswhowereknowntofrequenttheplace.ButOg’sbirthdaypartywasaspecial event, and so the usual clientele would be banished for the evening.Tonight,theclubwouldbepackedwithcelebrities—moviestars,musicians,andatleasttwomembersoftheHighFive.Ispentoveranhourtweakingmyavatar’shairandtryingondifferentskinsto

weartotheclub.Ifinallysettledonsomeclassic’80s-eraattire:alightgraysuit,exactlyliketheonePeterWellerworeinBuckarooBanzai,completewitharedbowtie,alongwithapairofvintagewhiteAdidashigh-tops.Ialsoloadedmyinventorywithmybestsuitofbodyarmorandalargeamountofweaponry.Oneof the reasons the Globe was such a hip, exclusive club was because it waslocated inaPvPzone,onewherebothmagicand technologyfunctioned.So itwasextremelydangeroustogothere.Especiallyforafamousgunterlikeme.There were hundreds of cyberpunk-themed worlds spread throughout the

OASIS, but Neonoir was one of the largest and oldest. Seen from orbit, theplanetwasashinyonyxmarblecoveredinoverlappingspider-websofpulsatinglight. It was always night onNeonoir, theworld over, and its surfacewas anuninterrupted grid of interconnected cities packed with impossibly largeskyscrapers. Its skies were filled with a continuous stream of flying vehicleswhirring through the vertical cityscapes, and the streets below teemed withleather-cladNPCs andmirror-shaded avatars, all sporting high-tech weaponryand subcutaneous implants as they spouted city-speak straight out ofNeuromancer.TheDistractedGlobewas located at thewestern-hemisphere intersection of

theBoulevardandtheAvenue,twobrightlylitstreetsthatstretchedcompletelyaround the planet along its equator and primemeridian.The club itselfwas amassivecobaltblue sphere, threekilometers indiameter, floating thirtymetersofftheground.Afloatingcrystalstaircaseleduptotheclub’sonlyentrance,acircularopeningatthebottomofthesphere.I made a big entrance when I arrived in my flying DeLorean, which I’d

obtainedbycompletingaBacktotheFuturequestontheplanetZemeckis.TheDeLorean came outfittedwith a (nonfunctioning) flux capacitor, but I’dmade

several additions to its equipment and appearance. First, I’d installed anartificially intelligent onboard computer namedKITT (purchased in an onlineauction)intothedashboard,alongwithamatchingredKnightRiderscannerjustabove the DeLorean’s grill. Then I’d outfitted the car with an oscillationoverthruster, a device that allowed it to travel through solidmatter.Finally, tocompletemy’80ssuper-vehicletheme,I’dslappedaGhostbusterslogooneachof the DeLorean’s gull-wing doors, then added personalized plates that readECTO-88.I’d had it only a few weeks now, but my time-traveling, Ghost Busting,

Knight Riding, matter-penetrating DeLorean had already become my avatar’strademark.IknewthatleavingmysweetrideparkedinaPvPzonewasanopeninvitation

for somemoron to try toboost it.TheDeLoreanhadseveralantitheft systemsinstalled,andtheignitionsystemwasbooby-trappedMaxRockatansky–stylesothat if any other avatar tried to start the car, the plutonium chamber woulddetonateinasmallthermonuclearexplosion.Butkeepingmycarsafewouldn’tbeaproblemhereonNeonoir.AssoonasIclimbedoutoftheDeLoreanIcastaShrinkspellonit,instantlyreducingittothesizeofaMatchboxcar.ThenIputtheDeLoreaninmypocket.Magiczoneshadtheiradvantages.Thousandsofavatarswerepackedupagainstthevelvetropeforcefieldsthat

kepteveryonewithoutaninvitationatbay.AsIwalkedtowardtheentrance,thecrowdbombardedmewith amix of insults, autograph requests, death threats,and tearful declarations of undying love. I hadmy body shield activated, butsurprisingly, no one took a shot at me. I flashed the cyborg doorman myinvitation,thenmountedthelongcrystalstaircaseleadingupintotheclub.EnteringtheDistractedGlobewasmorethanalittledisorienting.Theinside

ofthegiantspherewascompletelyhollow,anditscurvedinteriorsurfaceservedastheclub’sbarandloungearea.Themomentyoupassedthroughtheentrance,the laws of gravity changed.Nomatterwhere youwalked, your avatar’s feetalwaysadheredtotheinteriorofthesphere,soyoucouldwalkinastraightline,uptothe“top”oftheclub,thenbackdowntheotherside,endinguprightbackwhereyoustarted.Thehugeopenspaceinthecenterofthesphereservedastheclub’s zero-gravity “dance floor.” You reached it simply by jumping off theground,likeSupermantakingflight,andthenswimmingthroughtheair,intothesphericalzero-g“groovezone.”AsIsteppedthroughtheentrance,Iglancedup—orinthedirectionthatwas

currently “up” tome at themoment—and took a long look around.Theplacewas packed.Hundreds of avatarsmilled around like ants crawling around theinsideofagiantballoon.Otherswerealreadyoutonthedancefloor—spinning,

flying, twisting, and tumbling in time with the music, which thumped out offloatingsphericalspeakersthatdriftedthroughouttheclub.Inthemiddleofallthedancers,alargeclearbubblewassuspendedinspace,

at the absolute center of the club. This was the “booth” where the DJ stood,surroundedbyturntables,mixers,decks,anddials.Atthecenterofallthatgearwas the opening DJ, R2-D2, hard at work, using his various robotic arms toworktheturntables.Irecognizedthetunehewasplaying:the’88remixofNewOrder’s“BlueMonday,”withalotofStarWarsdroidsoundsamplesmixedin.AsImademywaytothenearestbar,theavatarsIpassedallstoppedtostare

andpoint inmydirection. Ididn’tpay themmuchnotice,because IwasbusyscanningtheclubforArt3mis.When I reached the bar, I ordered a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster from the

femaleKlingonbartenderanddownedhalfofit.ThenIgrinnedasR2cuedupanotherclassic’80stune.“‘UnionoftheSnake,’”Irecited,mostlyoutofhabit.“DuranDuran.Nineteeneighty-three.”“Notbad,ace,”saidafamiliarvoice,speaking just loudenoughtobeheard

over themusic. I turned to seeArt3mis standingbehindme.Shewaswearingevening attire: a gunmetal blue dress that looked like itwas spray-paintedon.Her avatar’s dark hair was styled in a pageboy cut, perfectly framing hergorgeousface.Shelookeddevastating.Sheshoutedatthebarkeep.“Glenmorangie.Ontherocks.”Ismiledtomyself.ConnorMacLeod’sfavoritedrink.Man,didIlovethisgirl.Shewinkedatmeasherdrinkappeared.Thensheclinkedherglassagainst

mine and downed its contents in one swallow. The chattering of the avatarsaroundusgrewinvolume.WordthatParzivalandArt3miswerehere,chattingeachotherupatthebar,wasalreadyspreadingthroughtheentireclub.Art3mis glanced up at the dance floor, then back atme. “So how about it,

Percy?”shesaid.“Feellikecuttingarug?”Iscowled.“Notifyoukeepcallingme‘Percy.’”Shelaughed.Just then, thecurrentsongended,andtheclubgrewsilent.All

eyesturnedupward,towardtheDJbooth,whereR2-D2wascurrentlydissolvingin a shower of light, like someone “beaming out” in an original Star Trekepisode.Thenahugecheerwentupasafamiliargray-hairedavatarbeamedin,appearingbehindtheturntables.ItwasOg.Hundredsofvidfeedwindowsmaterializedintheair,allovertheclub.Each

displayedaliveclose-upimageofOginthebooth,sothateveryonecouldseehisavatarclearly.Theoldwizardwaswearingbaggyjeans,sandals,andafadedStarTrek:TheNextGenerationT-shirt.Hewaved to theassembled, thencueduphisfirsttrack,adanceremixof“RebelYell”byBillyIdol.

Acheersweptacrossthedancefloor.“Ilove thissong!”Art3misshouted.Hereyesdarteduptothedancefloor.I

looked at her uncertainly. “What’s wrong?” she said with mock sympathy.“Can’ttheboydance?”Sheabruptlylockedintothebeat,bobbingherhead,gyratingherhips.Then

shepushedofffromthefloorwithbothfeetandbegantofloatupward,driftingtoward the groove zone. I stared up at her, temporarily frozen,musteringmycourage.“Allright,”Imutteredtomyself.“Whatthehell.”I bentmyknees and pushed off hard from the floor.My avatar took flight,

driftingupwardandslidingalongsideArt3mis.Theavatarswhowerealreadyonthedancefloormovedasidetoclearapathforus,atunnelleadingtothecenterof thedancefloor. IcouldseeOghovering inhisbubble, justashortdistanceaboveus.Hewasspinningaroundlikeadervish,remixingthesongontheflywhilesimultaneouslyadjustingthegravityvortexofthedancefloor,sothathewasactuallyspinningtheclubitself,likeanancientvinyldisc.Art3miswinkedatme,andthenherlegsmeltedtogethertoformamermaid’s

tail.Sheflappedhernewtailfinonceandshotaheadofme,herbodyundulatingand thrusting in timewith themachine-gun beat as she swam through the air.Then she spun back around to face me, suspended and floating, smiling andholdingoutherhand,beckoningmetojoinher.Herhairfloatedinahaloaroundherhead,likeshewasunderwater.WhenIreachedher,shetookmyhand.Asshedid,hermermaidtailvanished

andherlegsreappeared,whirlingandscissoringtothebeat.Not trustingmyinstinctsanyfurther, I loadedupapieceofhigh-endavatar

dance software called Travoltra, which I’d downloaded and tested earlier thatevening.TheprogramtookcontrolofParzival’smovements,synchingthemupwiththemusic,andallfourofmylimbsweretransformedintoundulatingcosinewaves.Justlikethat,Ibecameadancingfool.Art3mis’s eyes lit up in surprise and delight, and she began to mirror my

movements, the two of us orbiting each other like accelerated electrons.ThenArt3misbeganshape-shifting.Heravatar lost itshumanformanddissolvedintoapulsingamorphousblob

that changed its size and color in synchwith themusic. I selected themirrorpartner option onmy dance software and began to do the same.My avatar’slimbs and torso began to flow and spin like taffy, encircling Art3mis, whilestrange color patterns flowed and shifted acrossmy skin. I looked likePlasticMan, if hewere tripping out of hismind onLSD.Then everyone else on thedanceflooralsobegantoshape-shift,meltingintoprismaticblobsoflight.Soon,

thecenteroftheclublookedlikesomeotherworldlylavalamp.When the song ended,Og took a bow, then queued up a slow song. “Time

AfterTime”byCyndiLauper.Allaroundus,avatarsbegantopairup.IgaveArt3misacourtlybowandstretchedoutmyhand.Shesmiledandtook

it. I pulled her close andwe began to drift together.Og set the dance floor’sgravity on a counterclockwise spin, making all of our avatars slowly rotatearoundtheclub’sinvisiblecentralaxis,likemotesofdustfloatinginsideasnowglobe.Andthen,beforeIcouldstopmyself,thewordsjustcameout.“I’minlovewithyou,Arty.”She didn’t respond at first. She just looked at me in shock as our avatars

continued to drift in orbit around each other, moving on autopilot. Then sheswitched to a private voice channel, so no one could eavesdrop on ourconversation.“Youaren’tinlovewithme,Z,”shesaid.“Youdon’tevenknowme.”“YesIdo,”Iinsisted.“IknowyoubetterthanI’veeverknownanyoneinmy

entirelife.”“YouonlyknowwhatIwantyoutoknow.YouonlyseewhatIwantyouto

see.”Sheplacedahandonherchest.“Thisisn’tmyrealbody,Wade.Ormyrealface.”“Idon’tcare!I’minlovewithyourmind—withthepersonyouare.Icouldn’t

carelessaboutthepackaging.”“You’re just saying that,” she said.Therewas anunsteadiness in her voice.

“Trustme.IfIeverletyouseemeinperson,youwouldberepulsed.”“Whydoyoualwayssaythat?”“BecauseI’mhideouslydeformed.OrI’maparaplegic.OrI’mactuallysixty-

threeyearsold.Takeyourpick.”“Idon’tcareifyou’reallthreeofthosethings.Tellmewheretomeetyouand

I’llproveit.I’llgetonaplanerightnowandflytowhereveryouare.YouknowIwill.”Sheshookherhead.“Youdon’tliveintherealworld,Z.Fromwhatyou’ve

told me, I don’t think you ever have. You’re like me. You live inside thisillusion.”Shemotioned toourvirtual surroundings. “Youcan’t possiblyknowwhatrealloveis.”“Don’tsaythat!”Iwasstartingtocryanddidn’tbotherhidingitfromher.“Is

it because I told you I’ve never had a real girlfriend?And that I’m a virgin?Because—”“Ofcoursenot,”shesaid.“Thatisn’twhatthisisabout.Atall.”“Thenwhatisitabout?Tellme.Please.”

“TheHunt.Youknowthat.We’vebothbeenneglectingourqueststohangoutwitheachother.WeshouldbefocusedonfindingtheJadeKeyrightnow.Youcanbetthat’swhatSorrentoandtheSixersaredoing.Andeveryoneelse.”“To hell with our competition! And the egg!” I shouted. “Didn’t you hear

what I just said? I’m in lovewith you!And Iwant to bewith you.More thananything.”Shejuststaredatme.Orrather,heravatarstaredblanklybackatmyavatar.

Thenshesaid,“I’msorry,Z.Thisisallmyfault.Iletthisgetwayoutofhand.Ithastostop.”“Whatdoyoumean?Whathastostop?”“Ithinkweshouldtakeabreak.Stopspendingsomuchtimetogether.”IfeltlikeI’dbeenpunchedinthethroat.“Areyoubreakingupwithme?”“No, Z,” she said firmly. “I am not breaking up with you. That would be

impossible, becausewe are not together.” There was suddenly venom in hervoice.“We’veneverevenmet!”“Sothen…you’rejustgoingto…stoptalkingtome?”“Yes.Ithinkthatwouldbeforthebest.”“Forhowlong?”“UntiltheHuntisover.”“But,Arty…Thatcouldtakeyears.”“Irealizethat.AndI’msorry.Butthisishowithastobe.”“Sowinningthatmoneyismoreimportanttoyouthanme?”“It’snotaboutthemoney.It’saboutwhatIcoulddowithit.”“Right.Savingtheworld.You’resofuckingnoble.”“Don’t be a jerk,” she said. “I’ve been searching for the egg for over five

years.Sohaveyou.Nowwe’recloserthanevertofindingit.Ican’tjustthrowmychanceaway.”“I’mnotaskingyouto.”“Yes,youare.Evenifyoudon’trealizeit.”The Cyndi Lauper song ended and Og queued up another dance track

—“JamesBrownIsDead”byL.A.Style.Thecluberuptedinapplause.Ifeltlikealargewoodenstakehadbeendrivenintomychest.Art3mis was about to say something more—good-bye, I think—when we

heard a thunderous boom directly up above us. At first, I thought it wasOg,train-wrecking intoanewdance track.But thenI lookedupandsaw the largechunksofrubbletumblingathighspeedontothedancefloorasavatarsscatteredtogetoutoftheway.Agapingholehadjustbeenblastedintheroofoftheclub,nearthetopoftheglobe.AndasmallarmyofSixerswasnowpouringthroughit,swoopingintotheclubonjetpacks,firingblasterpistolsastheycame.

Totalchaosbrokeout.Halfoftheavatarsintheclubswarmedtowardtheexit,while the other half drew weapons or began to cast spells, firing laser bolts,bullets, and fireballs back at the invading Sixers. There were more than ahundredofthem,allarmedtotheteeth.I couldn’tbelieve theSixers’bravado.Whywould theybedumbenough to

attackaroomfullofhigh-levelgunters,ontheirownturf?Theymightkillafewofus,buttheyweregoingtolosesomeoralloftheirownavatarsintheprocess.Andforwhat?ThenIrealizedthatmostoftheSixers’incomingfireseemedtobedirectedat

meandArt3mis.Theywereheretokillthetwoofus.ThenewsthatArt3misandIwereheremusthavealreadyhitthenewsfeeds.

AndwhenSorrentohadlearnedthatthetoptwoguntersontheScoreboardwerehanging out in an unshielded PvP zone, hemust have decided that itwas toojuicyatargettopassup.ThiswastheSixers’chancetotakeouttheirtwobiggestcompetitorsinoneshot.Itwasworthwastingahundredorsooftheirhighest-levelavatars.Iknewmyownrecklessnesshadbrought themdownonus.Icursedmyself

forbeingsofoolish.ThenIdrewmyblastersandbegan tounload themat theclusterofSixersnearesttomewhilealsodoingmybesttododgetheirincomingfire.IglancedoveratArt3misjustintimetoseeherincinerateadozenSixersinthespaceoffiveseconds,usingballsofblueplasmathatshehurledoutofherpalms, while ignoring the steady stream of laser bolts and magic missilesricochetingoffher transparentbodyshield. Iwas takingheavyfire too.So farmyownbody shieldwas holding up, but itwasn’t going to lastmuch longer.Failurewarningswerealreadyflashingonmydisplay,andmyhit-pointcounterwasstartingtoplummet.In seconds, the situation escalated into the largest confrontation I’d ever

witnessed.AnditalreadyseemedclearthatArt3misandIweregoingtobeonthelosingside.Inoticedthatthemusicstillhadn’tstopped.IglancedupattheDJboothjustintimetoseeitcrackopenastheGreatand

PowerfulOgemergedfromwithin.Helookedreally,reallyannoyed.“Youjerksthinkyoucancrashmybirthdayparty?”heshouted.Hisavatarwas

still wearing a mic, so his words blasted over the club’s speaker array,reverberatinglikethevoiceofGod.ThemeleeseemedtohaltforasplitsecondasalleyesturnedtolookatOg,whowasnowfloatingatthecenterofthedancefloor.HestretchedouthisarmsasheturnedtofacetheonslaughtofSixers.AdozentinesofredlightningeruptedfromeachofOg’sfingertips,branching

outinalldirections.EachtinestruckadifferentSixeravatarinthechestwhile

somehowarcingharmlesslyaroundeveryoneelse.In a millisecond, every single Sixer in the club was completely vaporized.

Their avatars froze and glowed bright red for a few seconds, then simplyvanished.Iwasawestruck.ItwasthemostincredibledisplayofpowerbyanavatarI’d

everseen.“Nobody busts into my joint uninvited!” Og shouted, his voice echoing

throughthenow-silentclub.Theremainingavatars(theoneswhohadn’tfledtheclubinterrororbeenkilledinthebriefbattle)letoutavictoriouscheer.OgflewbackintotheDJbooth,whichcloseduparoundhimlikeatransparentcocoon.“Let’s get this party going again, shall we?” he said, dropping a needle on atechnoremixof“Atomic”byBlondie.It tookamomentfor theshocktowearoff,buttheneveryonestartedtodanceagain.IlookedaroundforArt3mis,butsheseemedtohavevanished.ThenIspotted

heravatar flyingoutof thenewexit theSixerattackhadcreated.Shestoppedandhoveredoutsideamoment,justlongenoughtoglancebackatme.

Mycomputerwokemeupjustbeforesundown,andIbeganmydailyritual.“I’mup!”Ishoutedatthedarkness.IntheweekssinceArt3mishaddumped

me, I’dhadahard timegettingoutofbed in themorning.SoI’ddisabledmyalarm’s snooze feature and instructed the computer to blast “Wake Me UpBeforeYouGo-Go”byWham!Iloathedthatsongwitheveryfiberofmybeing,andgettingupwastheonlywaytosilenceit.Itwasn’tthemostpleasantwaytostartmyday,butitgotmemoving.The song cut off, and my haptic chair reshaped and reoriented itself,

transformingfromabedbackintoitschairconfiguration,liftingmeintoasittingpositionasitdidso.Thecomputerbegantobringthelightsupslowly,allowingmy eyes to adjust.No outside light ever penetratedmy apartment. The singlewindow had once provided a view of the Columbus skyline, but I’d spray-painted it completely black a few days after I moved in. I’d decided thateverythingoutsidethewindowwasadistractionfrommyquest,soIdidn’tneedtowastetimestaringatit.Ididn’twanttohear theoutsideworld,either,butIhadn’tbeenable to improveupontheapartment’sexistingsoundproofing.SoIhadtolivewiththemuffledsoundsofwindandrain,andofstreetandairtraffic.Eventhesecouldbeadistraction.Attimes,I’dslipintoakindoftrance,sittingwithmyeyesclosed,oblivioustothepassageoftime,listeningtothesoundsoftheworldoutsidemyroom.I’dmadeseveralothermodificationstotheapartmentforthesakeofsecurity

and convenience. First, I replaced the flimsy door with a new airtight armor-plated vacuum-sealed WarDoor. Whenever I needed something—food, toiletpaper,newgear—Iordereditonline,andsomeonebroughtitrighttomydoor.Deliveriesworked like this: First, the scannermounted outside in the hallwaywouldverifythedeliveryperson’sidentityandmycomputerwouldconfirmtheywere delivering something I’d actually ordered. Then the outer door wouldunlockitselfandslideopen,revealingasteel-reinforcedair lockaboutthesizeofashowerstall.Thedeliverypersonwouldplacetheparcel,pizza,orwhatever

inside the air lock and step back. The outer door would hiss shut and relockitself; then the packagewould be scanned, X-rayed, and analyzed eight waysfromWednesday.Itscontentswouldbeverifiedanddeliveryconfirmationwouldbe sent.Then Iwould unlock andopen the inner door and receivemygoods.Capitalismwouldinchforward,withoutmyactuallyhavingtointeractface-to-facewithanotherhumanbeing.WhichwasexactlyhowIpreferredit,thankyou.The room itselfwasn’tmuch to look at,whichwas fine, because I spent as

littletimelookingatitaspossible.Itwasbasicallyacube,abouttenmeterslongon each side. A modular shower and toilet unit were embedded in one wall,oppositethesmallergonomickitchen.I’dneveractuallyusedthekitchentocookanything.Mymealswereallfrozenordelivered.MicrowavebrownieswereascloseasIevergottocooking.TherestoftheroomwasdominatedbymyOASISimmersionrig.I’dinvested

every sparecent Ihad in it.Newer, faster,ormoreversatile componentswerealwaysbeingreleased,soIwasconstantlyspendinglargechunksofmymeagerincomeonupgrades.The crown jewel inmy rigwas, of course,my customizedOASIS console.

Thecomputerthatpoweredmyworld.I’dbuiltitmyself,piecebypiece,insideamodded mirror-black Odinware sphere chassis. It had a new overclockedprocessor that was so fast its cycle-time bordered on pre-cognition. And theinternal hard drive had enough storage space to hold three digitized copies ofEverythinginExistence.I spent themajority ofmy time inmy Shaptic Technologies HC5000 fully

adjustablehapticchair. Itwassuspendedbytwojointedroboticarmsanchoredtomyapartment’swallsandceiling.Thesearmscouldrotatethechaironallfouraxes,sowhenIwasstrappedintoit,theunitcouldflip,spin,orshakemybodytocreatethesensationthatIwasfalling,flying,orsittingbehindthewheelofanuclear-poweredrocketsledhurtlingatMach2throughacanyononthefourthmoonofAltairVI.ThechairworkedinconjunctionwithmyShapticBootsuit,afull-bodyhaptic

feedback suit. It covered every inchofmybody from theneckdownandhaddiscreet openings so I could relievemyselfwithout removing the entire thing.Theoutsideofthesuitwascoveredwithanelaborateexoskeleton,anetworkofartificial tendons and joints that could both sense and inhibitmymovements.Builtintotheinsideofthesuitwasaweblikenetworkofminiatureactuatorsthatmadecontactwithmyskineveryfewcentimeters.Thesecouldbeactivated insmallorlargegroupsforthepurposeoftactilesimulation—tomakemyskinfeelthingsthatweren’treallythere.Theycouldconvincinglysimulatethesensationofa tapontheshoulder,akickto theshin,oragunshot in thechest. (Built-in

safetysoftwarepreventedmyrig fromactuallycausingmeanyphysicalharm,soasimulatedgunshotactuallyfeltmorelikeaweakpunch.)Ihadanidenticalbackupsuithanging in theMoshWashcleaningunit in thecornerof theroom.Thesetwohapticsuitsmadeupmyentirewardrobe.Myoldstreetclotheswereburiedsomewhereinthecloset,collectingdust.On my hands, I wore a pair of state-of-the-art Okagami IdleHands haptic

datagloves. Special tactile feedback pads covered both palms, allowing theglovestocreatetheillusionthatIwastouchingobjectsandsurfacesthatdidn’tactuallyexist.Myvisorwasabrand-newpairofDinatroRLR-7800WreckSpex,featuringa

top-of-the-line virtual retinal display. The visor drew theOASIS directly ontomyretinas,atthehighestframerateandresolutionperceptibletothehumaneye.The real world looked washed-out and blurry by comparison. The RLR-7800was a not-yet-available-to-the-plebian-masses prototype, but I had anendorsementdealwithDinatro,sotheysentmefreegear(shippedtomethroughaseriesofremailingservices,whichIusedtomaintainmyanonymity).MyAboundSound audio system consisted of an array of ultrathin speakers

mountedon theapartment’swalls, floor,andceiling,providing360degreesofperfect spatial pin-drop sound reproduction. And theMjolnur subwoofer waspowerfulenoughtomakemybackteethvibrate.TheOlfatrix smell tower in the cornerwas capable of generating over two

thousanddiscernibleodors.Arosegarden,saltyoceanwind,burningcordite—thetowercouldconvincinglyre-createthemall.Italsodoubledasanindustrial-strengthairconditioner/purifier,whichwasprimarilywhatIuseditfor.Alotofjokerslikedtocodereallyhorrificsmellsintotheirsimulations,justtomesswithpeoplewhoowned smell towers, so I usually left theodor generator disabled,unless I was in a part of theOASISwhere I thought being able to smellmysurroundingsmightproveuseful.Onthefloor,directlyunderneathmysuspendedhapticchair,wasmyOkagami

Runaroundomnidirectionaltreadmill.(“Nomatterwhereyougo,thereyouare”wasthemanufacturer’sslogan.)Thetreadmillwasabouttwometerssquareandsix centimeters thick.When it was activated, I could run at top speed in anydirection andnever reach the edgeof the platform. If I changeddirection, thetreadmillwouldsenseit,anditsrollingsurfacewouldchangedirectiontomatchme,alwayskeepingmybodynearthecenterofitsplatform.Thismodelwasalsoequippedwithbuilt-inliftsandanamorphoussurface,sothatitcouldsimulatewalkingupinclinesandstaircases.YoucouldalsopurchaseanACHD(anatomicallycorrecthapticdoll), ifyou

wantedtohavemore“intimate”encountersinsidetheOASIS.ACHDscamein

male, female, and dual-sex models, and were available with a wide array ofoptions. Realistic latex skin. Servomotor-driven endoskeletons. Simulatedmusculature. And all of the attendant appendages and orifices one wouldimagine.Driven by loneliness, curiosity, and raging teen hormones, I’d purchased a

midrange ACHD, the Shaptic ÜberBetty, a few weeks after Art3mis stoppedspeakingtome.Afterspendingseveralhighlyunproductivedaysinsideastand-alonebrothelsimulationcalledthePleasuredome,I’dgottenridofthedoll,outof a combination of shame and self-preservation. I’d wasted thousands ofcredits, missed a whole week of work, and was on the verge of completelyabandoningmy quest for the egg when I confronted the grim realization thatvirtualsex,nomatterhowrealistic,wasreallynothingbutglorified,computer-assistedmasturbation.At theendof theday, Iwasstillavirgin,allalone inadarkroom,humpingalubed-uprobot.SoIgotridoftheACHDandwentbacktospankingthemonkeytheold-fashionedway.I felt no shame about masturbating. Thanks to Anorak’s Almanac, I now

thoughtofitasanormalbodilyfunction,asnecessaryandnaturalassleepingoreating.

AA241:87—Iwouldargue thatmasturbation is thehumananimal’smostimportant adaptation. The very cornerstone of our technologicalcivilization.Ourhandsevolvedtogriptools,allright—includingourown.You see, thinkers, inventors, and scientists are usually geeks, and geekshave a harder time getting laid than anyone.Without the built-in sexualrelease valve provided by masturbation, it’s doubtful that early humanswouldhaveevermasteredthesecretsof fireordiscoveredthewheel.Andyou can bet that Galileo, Newton, and Einstein never would have madetheir discoveries if they hadn’t first been able to clear their heads byslapping the salami (or “knocking a few protons off the old hydrogenatom”).ThesamegoesforMarieCurie.Beforeshediscoveredradium,youcanbecertainshefirstdiscoveredthelittlemaninthecanoe.

Itwasn’toneofHalliday’smorepopulartheories,butIlikedit.As I shuffled over to the toilet, a large flat-screenmonitormounted on the

wall switched on, and the smiling face of Max, my system agent software,appearedon thescreen. I’dprogrammedMax tostartupa fewminutesafter Iturnedonthelights,soIcouldwakeupalittlebitbeforehestartedjabberingtome.“G-g-goodmorning,Wade!”Maxstutteredcheerily.“Riseandsh-sh-shine!”

Running system agent software was a little like having a virtual personalassistant—one that also functioned as a voice-activated interface with yourcomputer. System agent software was highly configurable, with hundreds ofpreprogrammed personalities to choose from. I’d programmed mine to look,sound,andbehavelikeMaxHeadroom,the(ostensibly)computer-generatedstarofa late-’80s talkshow,agroundbreakingcyberpunkTVseries,andaslewofCokecommercials.“Goodmorning,Max,”Irepliedgroggily.“Ithinkyoumeangoodevening,Rumpelstiltskin.It’s7:18p.m.,OASISSta-

sta-standard Time,Wednesday, December thirtieth.”Maxwas programmed tospeakwithaslightelectronicstutter.Inthemid-’80s,whenthecharacterofMaxHeadroomwascreated,computersweren’tactuallypowerfulenoughtogeneratea photorealistic human figure, so Max had been portrayed by an actor (thebrilliant Matt Frewer) who wore a lot of rubber makeup to make him lookcomputer-generated.ButtheversionofMaxnowsmilingatmeonthemonitorwaspuresoftware,withthebestsimulatedAIandvoice-recognitionsubroutinesmoneycouldbuy.I’dbeenrunningahighlycustomizedversionofMaxHeadroomv3.4.1fora

fewweeksnow.Beforethat,mysystemagentsoftwarehadbeenmodeledafterthe actress Erin Gray (of Buck Rogers and Silver Spoons fame). But she’dproved tobeway toodistracting, so I’dswitched toMax.Hewasannoyingattimes,buthealsocrackedmeup.Hedidaprettydecentjobofkeepingmefromfeelinglonesome,too.As I stumbled into the bathroom module and emptied my bladder, Max

continuedtoaddressmefromasmallmonitormountedabovethemirror.“Uh-oh!Itappearsyou’vesp-sp-sprungaleak!”hesaid.“Getanewjoke,”Isaid.“AnynewsIshouldknowabout?”“Justtheusual.Wars,rioting,famine.Nothingthatwouldinterestyou.”“Anymessages?”Herolledhiseyes.“Afew.Buttoansweryourrealquestion,no.Art3misstill

hasn’tcalledorwrittenyouback,loverboy.”“I’vewarnedyou.Don’tcallmethat,Max.You’rebeggingtobedeleted.”“Touchy,touchy.Honestly,Wade.Whendidyougetsos-s-sensitive?”“I’ll erase you,Max. I mean it. Keep it up and I’ll switch back toWilma

Deering.OrI’lltryoutthedisembodiedvoiceofMajelBarrett.”Maxmadeapoutyfaceandspunaroundtofacetheshiftingdigitalwallpaper

behindhim—currentlyapatternofmulticoloredvector lines.Maxwasalwayslikethis.Givingmegriefwaspartofhispreprogrammedpersonality.Iactuallysort of enjoyed it, because it reminded me of hanging out with Aech. And I

reallymissedhangingoutwithAech.Alot.Mygazedropped to thebathroommirror,but Ididn’tmuchlikewhatIsaw

there,soIclosedmyeyesuntilIfinishedurinating.Iwondered(notforthefirsttime)whyIhadn’tpaintedthemirrorblacktoo,whenI’ddonethewindow.ThehourorsoafterIwokeupwasmyleastfavoritepartofeachday,because

Ispent it in therealworld.ThiswaswhenIdealtwith the tediousbusinessofcleaningandexercisingmyphysicalbody. Ihated thispartof thedaybecauseeverythingabout it contradictedmyother life.My real life, inside theOASIS.Thesightofmytinyone-roomapartment,myimmersionrig,ormyreflectioninthemirror—theyallservedasaharshreminderthattheworldIspentmydaysinwasnot,infact,therealone.“Retract chair,” I said as I stepped out of the bathroom. The haptic chair

instantlyflatteneditselfagain,thenretractedsothatitwasflushagainstthewall,clearingalargeemptyspaceinthecenteroftheroom.IpulledonmyvisorandloadeduptheGym,astand-alonesimulation.Now I was standing in a large modern fitness center lined with exercise

equipment andweightmachines, all ofwhich could be perfectly simulated bymyhapticsuit.Ibeganmydailyworkout.Sit-ups,stomachcrunches,push-ups,aerobics, weight training. Occasionally, Max would shout words ofencouragement.“Getthoselegsup,yous-s-sissy!Feeltheburn!”I usually got a little exercisewhile logged into theOASIS, by engaging in

physicalcombatorrunningaroundthevirtuallandscapeonmytreadmill.ButIspentthevastmajorityofmytimesittinginmyhapticchair,gettingalmostnoexercise at all. I also had a habit of overeating when I was depressed orfrustrated,whichwasmostofthetime.Asaresult,I’dgraduallystartedtoputon some extra pounds. I wasn’t in the best shape to beginwith, so I quicklyreachedapointwhere I couldno longer fit comfortably inmyhaptic chair orsqueeze in tomyXL haptic suit. Soon, I would need to buy a new rig, withcomponentsfromtheHuskyline.Iknewthat if Ididn’tgetmyweightundercontrol, Iwouldprobablydieof

sloth before I found the egg. I couldn’t let that happen. So I made a snapdecisionandenabled thevoluntaryOASIS fitness lockout softwareonmy rig.I’dregretteditalmostimmediately.From then on, my computer monitored my vital signs and kept track of

exactly howmany calories I burned during the course of each day. If I didn’tmeetmydailyexerciserequirements,thesystempreventedmefromloggingintomyOASISaccount.Thismeant thatIcouldn’tgotowork,continuemyquest,or,ineffect,livemylife.Oncethelockoutwasengaged,youcouldn’tdisableitfor two months. And the software was bound to my OASIS account, so I

couldn’tjustbuyanewcomputerorgorentaboothinsomepublicOASIScafé.IfIwantedtologin,Ihadnochoicebuttoexercisefirst.ThisprovedtobetheonlymotivationIneeded.The lockout software also monitored my dietary intake. Each day I was

allowed to selectmeals fromapresetmenuofhealthy, low-calorie foods.Thesoftwarewouldorder the food formeonline and itwouldbedelivered tomydoor.SinceIneverleftmyapartment,itwaseasyfortheprogramtokeeptrackofeverythingIate.IfIorderedadditionalfoodonmyown,itwouldincreasetheamountofexerciseIhadtodoeachday,tooffsetmyadditionalcalorieintake.Thiswassomesadisticsoftware.Butitworked.Thepoundsbegantomeltoff,andafterafewmonths,Iwasin

near-perfect health. For the first time in my life I had a flat stomach, andmuscles.Ialsohadtwicetheenergy,andIgotsickalotlessfrequently.Whenthe twomonthsendedand Iwas finallygiven theoption todisable the fitnesslockout, I decided tokeep it inplace.Now, exercisingwas apart ofmydailyritual.OnceIfinishedwithmyweighttraining,Isteppedontomytreadmill.“Begin

morningrun,”IsaidtoMax.“Bifrosttrack.”Thevirtualgymvanished.NowIwasstandingonasemitransparentrunning

track,acurvedloopingribbonsuspendedinastarrynebula.Giantringedplanetsandmulticoloredmoonswere suspended in space all aroundme.The runningtrackstretchedoutaheadofme,rising,falling,andoccasionallyspiralingintoahelix.Aninvisiblebarrierpreventedmefromaccidentallyrunningofftheedgeofthetrackandplummetingintothestarryabyss.TheBifrosttrackwasanotherstand-alone simulation, one of several hundred track designs stored on myconsole’sharddrive.As I began to run,Max fired upmy ’80smusic playlist. As the first song

began, I quickly rattled off its title, artist, album, and year of release frommemory:“‘AMillionMilesAway,’thePlimsouls,EverywhereatOnce,1983.”ThenIbegantosingalong,recitingthelyrics.Havingtheright’80ssonglyricmemorizedmightsavemyavatar’slifesomeday.WhenIfinishedmyrun,Ipulledoffmyvisorandbeganremovingmyhaptic

suit.Thishadtobedoneslowlytopreventdamagingthesuit’scomponents.AsIcarefully peeled it off, the contact patchesmade tiny popping sounds as theypulledfreeofmyskin,leavingtinycircularmarksallovermybody.OnceIhadthesuitoff,Iplaceditinsidethecleaningunitandlaidmycleansparesuitoutonthefloor.Maxhadalreadyturnedontheshowerforme,settingthewater temperature

rightwhereIlikedit.AsIjumpedintothesteam-filledstall,Maxswitchedthe

music over to my shower tunes playlist. I recognized the opening riffs of“Change,”by JohnWaite.From theVisionQuest soundtrack.GeffenRecords,1985.Theshowerworkedalotlikeanoldcarwash.Ijuststoodtherewhileitdid

most of the work, blastingme from all angles with jets of soapy water, thenrinsing me off. I had no hair to wash, because the shower also dispensed anontoxichair-removingsolution that I rubbedallovermy faceandbody.Thiseliminatedtheneedformetoshaveorcutmyhair,bothhasslesIdidn’tneed.Havingsmoothskinalsohelpedmakesuremyhapticsuitfitsnugly.Ilookedalittlefreakywithoutanyeyebrows,butIgotusedtoit.Whentherinsejetscutoff, theblow-dryerskickedon,blastingthemoisture

offofmyskininamatterofseconds.Isteppedintothekitchenandtookoutacan of Sludge, a high-protein, vitamin D–infused breakfast drink (to helpcounteractmysunlightdeprivation).AsIgulpeditdown,mycomputer’ssensorssilentlytooknote,scanningthebarcodeandaddingthecaloriestomytotalfortheday.Withbreakfastoutoftheway,Ipulledonmycleanhapticsuit.Thiswaslesstrickythantakingthesuitoff,butitstilltooktimetodoproperly.OnceIhadthesuiton,Iorderedthehapticchairtoextend.ThenIpausedand

spentamomentstaringatmyimmersionrig.I’dbeensoproudofallthishigh-tech hardware when I’d first purchased it. But over the past fewmonths, I’dcometoseemyrig forwhat itwas:anelaboratecontraptionfordeceivingmysenses, toallowmetoliveinaworldthatdidn’texist.EachcomponentofmyrigwasabarinthecellwhereIhadwillinglyimprisonedmyself.Standingthere,underthebleakfluorescentsofmytinyone-roomapartment,

there was no escaping the truth. In real life, I was nothing but an antisocialhermit.A recluse.A pale-skinned pop culture–obsessed geek.An agoraphobicshut-in, with no real friends, family, or genuine human contact. I was justanothersad,lost,lonelysoul,wastinghislifeonaglorifiedvideogame.ButnotintheOASIS.Inthere,IwasthegreatParzival.World-famousgunter

and international celebrity. People asked for my autograph. I had a fan club.Several,actually.IwasrecognizedeverywhereIwent(butonlywhenIwantedtobe). Iwaspaid toendorseproducts.Peopleadmiredand lookedup tome. Igotinvitedtothemostexclusiveparties.Iwenttoallthehippestclubsandneverhad to wait in line. I was a pop-culture icon, a VR rock star. And, in guntercircles,Iwasalegend.Nay,agod.Isatdownandpulledonmyglovesandvisor.Oncemyidentitywasverified,

theGregariousSimulationSystems logo appeared in front ofme, followedbythelog-inprompt.

Greetings,Parzival.Pleasespeakyourpassphrase.

I clearedmy throatand recitedmypassphrase.Eachwordappearedonmy

displayas I said it.“Noone in theworldevergetswhat theywantand that isbeautiful.”Therewasabriefpause,andthenIletoutaninvoluntarysighofreliefasthe

OASISfadedintoexistenceallaroundme.

My avatar slowly materialized in front of the control panel in mystronghold’s command center, the same spot where I’d been sitting the nightbefore, engaged inmyevening ritual of staringblankly at theQuatrainuntil Idriftedofftosleepandthesystemloggedmeout.I’dbeenstaringatthedamnthingforalmostsixmonthsnow,andIstillhadn’tbeenabletodecipherit.Noone had. Everyone had theories, of course, but the Jade Key still remainedunfound,andtoprankingsontheScoreboardremainedstatic.My command centerwas located under an armored dome embedded in the

rocky surface of my own private asteroid. From here I had a sweeping 360-degreeviewof thesurroundingcratered landscape,stretchingto thehorizon inall directions. The rest of my stronghold was belowground, in a vastsubterraneancomplexthatstretchedallthewaytotheasteroid’score.I’dcodedtheentirethingmyself,shortlyaftermovingtoColumbus.Myavatarneededastronghold,andIdidn’twantanyneighbors,soI’dboughtthecheapestplanetoidI could find—this tiny barren asteroid in Sector Fourteen. Its designationwasS14A316,butI’drenameditFalco,aftertheAustrianrapstar.(Iwasn’tahugeFalcofanoranything.Ijustthoughtitsoundedlikeacoolname.)Falcohadonlyafewsquarekilometersofsurfacearea,butithadstillcostme

aprettypenny.Ithadbeenworthit,though.Whenyouownedyourownworld,youcouldbuildwhateveryouwanted there.Andnoonecouldvisit itunless Igrantedthemaccess,somethingInevergavetoanyone.MystrongholdwasmyhomeinsidetheOASIS.Myavatar’ssanctuary.ItwastheoneplaceintheentiresimulationwhereIwastrulysafe.As soon as my log-in sequence completed, a window popped up on my

display,informingmethattodaywasanelectionday.NowthatIwaseighteen,Icouldvote, inboth theOASISelectionsand theelectionsforU.S.governmentofficials.Ididn’tbotherwiththelatter,becauseIdidn’tseethepoint.Theonce-greatcountry intowhich I’dbeenbornnowresembled its formerself innameonly. It didn’tmatterwhowas in charge.Thosepeoplewere rearrangingdeck

chairson theTitanic and everyone knew it.Besides, now that everyone couldvote from home, via theOASIS, the only peoplewho could get electedweremoviestars,realityTVpersonalities,orradicaltelevangelists.I did take the time to vote in the OASIS elections, however, because their

outcomesactuallyaffectedme.Thevotingprocessonlytookmeafewminutes,becauseIwasalreadyfamiliarwithallofthemajorissuesGSShadputontheballot.ItwasalsotimetoelectthepresidentandVPoftheOASISUserCouncil,but thatwasano-brainer.Likemostgunters,IvotedtoreelectCoryDoctorowandWilWheaton(again).Therewerenotermlimits,andthosetwogeezershadbeendoingakick-assjobofprotectinguserrightsforoveradecade.When I finished voting, I adjustedmy haptic chair slightly and studied the

command console in front of me. It was crammed with switches, buttons,keyboards,joysticks,anddisplayscreens.Abankofsecuritymonitorsonmyleftwerelinkedtovirtualcamerasplacedthroughouttheinteriorandexteriorofmystronghold.Tomyright,anotherbankofmonitorsdisplayedallofmyfavoritenewsandentertainmentvidfeeds.Amongthesewasmyownchannel:Parzival-TV—Broadcastingobscureeclecticcrap,24-7-365.Earlier that year, GSS had added a new feature to every OASIS user’s

account: the POV (personal OASIS vidfeed) channel. It allowed anyone whopaid a monthly fee to run their own streaming television network. Anyonelogged into the simulation could tune in and watch your POV channel, fromanywhereintheworld.Whatyouairedonyourchannelandwhoyouallowedtoview itwere entirely up to you.Most users chose to run a “voyeur channel,”which was like being the star of your own twenty-four-hour reality show.Hovering virtual cameraswould followyour avatar around theOASIS as youwentaboutyourday-to-dayactivities.Youcouldlimitaccesstoyourchannelsothatonlyyourfriendscouldwatch,oryoucouldchargeviewersbythehourtoaccess your POV. A lot of second-tier celebrities and pornographers did this,sellingtheirvirtuallivesataper-minutepremium.SomepeopleusedtheirPOVtobroadcastlivevideooftheirreal-worldselves,

or theirdog,or theirkids.Somepeopleprogrammednothingbutoldcartoons.Thepossibilitieswereendless,andthevarietyofstuffavailableseemedtogrowmore twisted every day. Nonstop foot fetish videos broadcast out of EasternEurope.AmateurpornfeaturingdeviantsoccermomsinMinnesota.Younameit.Everyflavorofweirdnessthehumanpsychecouldcookupwasbeingfilmedandbroadcastonline.Thevastwastelandoftelevisionprogramminghadfinallyreached its zenith, and the average person was no longer limited to fifteenminutes of fame. Now everyone could be on TV, every second of every day,whetherornotanyonewaswatching.

Parzival-TVwasn’tavoyeurchannel.Infact,Inevershowedmyavatar’sfaceon my vidfeed. Instead, I programmed a selection of classic ’80s TV shows,retrocommercials,cartoons,musicvideos,andmovies.Lotsofmovies.Ontheweekends, I showed old Japanese monster flicks, along with some vintageanime.Whatever struckmy fancy. It didn’t reallymatterwhat I programmed.My avatar was still one of the High Five, so my vidfeed drew millions ofviewers every day, regardless of what I aired, and this allowed me to sellcommercialtimetomyvarioussponsors.Most of Parzival-TV’s regular viewers were gunters who monitored my

vidfeed with the hope that I’d inadvertently reveal some key piece ofinformationabout theJadeKeyor theeggitself. Ineverdid,ofcourse.At themoment,Parzival-TVwaswrappingupanonstop two-dayKikaidermarathon.Kikaiderwasalate-’70sJapaneseactionshowaboutared-and-blueandroidwhobeatthecrapoutofrubber-suitedmonstersineachepisode.Ihadaweaknessforvintage kaiju and tokusatsu, shows like Spectreman, The Space Giants, andSupaidaman.I pulled upmy programming grid andmade a few changes tomy evening

lineup. I cleared away the episodes of Riptide and Misfits of Science I’dprogrammed and dropped in a few back-to-back flicks starring Gamera, myfavoritegiantflyingturtle.Ithoughttheyshouldberealcrowdpleasers.Then,tofinishoffthebroadcastday,IaddedafewepisodesofSilverSpoons.Art3mis also ranher ownvidfeed channel,Art3mivision, and I alwayskept

one ofmymonitors tuned to it. Right now, shewas airing her usualMondayeveningfare:anepisodeofSquarePegs.AfterthatwouldbeElectraWomanandDynaGirl, followedbyback-to-back episodesof Isis andWonderWoman. Herprogramming lineuphadn’t changed in ages.But it didn’tmatter.She still gotkillerratings.Recently,she’dalsolaunchedherownwildlysuccessfulclothingline for full-figured female avatars, under the label Art3Miss. She was doingreallywellforherself.AfterthatnightintheDistractedGlobe,Art3mishadcutoffallcontactwith

me. She blocked all of my e-mails, phone calls, and chat requests. She alsostoppedmakingpoststoherblog.I tried everything I could think of to reach her. I sent her avatar flowers. I

mademultipletripstoheravatar’sstronghold,anarmoredpalaceonBenatar,thesmallmoonsheowned.Idroppedmixtapesandnotesonherpalacefromtheair,likelovesickbombs.Once,inasupremeactofdesperation,Istoodoutsideherpalacegates for two solidhours,with aboomboxovermyhead,blasting“InYourEyes”byPeterGabrielatfullvolume.Shedidn’tcomeout.Idon’tevenknowifshewashome.

I’dbeenlivinginColumbusforoverfivemonthsnow,andithadbeeneightlong, torturousweeks since I’d last spoken toArt3mis.But Ihadn’t spent thattimemopingaroundandfeelingsorryformyself.Well,notallofit,anyway.I’dtried to enjoy my “new life” as a world-famous sector-hopping gunter. Eventhough I’d maxxed out my avatar’s power level, I continued to complete asmanyquestsaspossible,toaddtomyalreadyimpressivecollectionofweapons,magic items,andvehicles,which Ikept inavaultdeepwithinmystronghold.Questingkeptmebusyand servedas awelcomedistraction from thegrowinglonelinessandisolationIfelt.I’d tried to reconnect with Aech after Art3mis had dumpedme, but things

weren’t the same. We’d grown apart, and I knew it was my fault. Ourconversations were now stilted and reserved, as if we were both afraid ofrevealingsomekeypieceofinformationtheothermightbeabletouse.Icouldtellhenolongertrustedme.AndwhileI’dbeenoffobsessingoverArt3mis,itseemedAechhadbecomeobsessedwithbeing thefirstgunter tofind theJadeKey.Butithadbeenalmosthalfayearsincewe’dclearedtheFirstGate,andtheJadeKey’slocationstillremainedamystery.Ihadn’tspokentoAechinalmostamonth.Mylastconversationwithhimhad

devolvedintoashoutingmatch,whichhadendedwhenIremindedAechthathe“neverevenwouldhavefoundtheCopperKey”ifIhadn’tledhimstraighttoit.He’d glared atme in silence for a second, then logged out of the chat room.Stubbornpridekeptmefromcallinghimbackrightawaytoapologize,andnowitseemedliketoomuchtimehadpassed.Yeah.Iwasonaroll.Inlessthansixmonths,I’dmanagedtowreckbothof

myclosestfriendships.I flipped over to Aech’s channel, which he called the H-Feed. He was

currentlyshowingaWWFmatchfromthelate’80s,featuringHulkHoganandAndre theGiant. Ididn’tevenbothercheckingDaitoandShoto’schannel, theDaishow,becauseIknewthey’dbeshowingsomeoldsamuraimovie.That’sallthoseguyseveraired.AfewmonthsafterourconfrontationalfirstmeetinginAech’sbasement,I’d

managedtoformatenuousfriendshipwithDaitoandShotowhenthethreeofusteameduptocompleteanextendedquestinSectorTwenty-two.Itwasmyidea.I felt bad about how our first encounter had ended, and I waited for anopportunity to extend some sort of olive branch to the two samurai. It camewhen I discovered ahiddenhigh-level quest calledShodaiUrutoramanon theplanet Tokusatsu. The creation date in the quest’s colophon said it had beenlaunchedseveralyearsafterHalliday’sdeath,whichmeantitcouldn’thaveanyrelationtothecontest.ItwasalsoaJapanese-languagequest,createdbyGSS’s

Hokkaido division. I could have tried to complete it on my own, using theMandarax real-time translator software installed in allOASIS accounts, but itwould have been risky. Mandarax had been known to garble or misinterpretquestinstructionsandcues,whichcouldeasilyleadtofatalmistakes.DaitoandShoto lived inJapan(they’dbecomenationalheroes there),and I

knewthattheybothspokeJapaneseandEnglishfluently.SoI’dcontactedthemtoaskiftheywereinterestedinteamingupwithme,justforthisonequest.Theywereskepticalat first,butafter Idescribed theuniquenatureof thequest,andwhatIbelievedthepayoffforsolvingitmightbe,theyfinallyagreed.ThethreeofusmetoutsidethequestgateonTokusatsuandenteredittogether.The quest was a re-creation of all thirty-nine episodes of the original

UltramanTVseries,whichhadairedonJapanesetelevisionfrom1966to1967.The show’s storyline centered around a human named Hayata who was amemberoftheSciencePatrol,anorganizationdevotedtofightingthehordesofgiantGodzilla-likemonstersthatwereconstantlyattackingEarthandthreateninghumancivilization.WhentheSciencePatrolencounteredathreattheycouldn’thandleontheirown,HayatawoulduseanaliendevicecalledaBetaCapsuletotransformintoanaliensuper-beingknownasUltraman.Thenhewouldproceedto kick the monster-of-the-week’s ass, using all sorts of kung-fu moves andenergyattacks.If I’d entered the quest gate bymyself, I would have automatically played

throughtheentireseriesstorylineasHayata.ButbecauseShoto,Daito,andIhadall entered at once,wewere each allowed to select a different Science Patrolteammembertoplay.Wecouldthenchangeorswapcharactersatthestartofthenext level or “episode.” The three of us took turns playing Hayata and hisScience Patrol teammates Hoshino and Arashi. As with most quests in theOASIS, playing as a team made it easier to defeat the various enemies andcompleteeachofthelevels.It tookusanentireweek,oftenplayingoversixteenhoursaday,beforewe

were finally able to clear all thirty-nine levels and complete the quest.Aswesteppedoutofthequestgate,ouravatarswereeachawardedahugeamountofexperiencepointsandseveralthousandcredits.Buttherealprizeforcompletingthequestwasanincrediblyrareartifact:Hayata’sBetaCapsule.ThesmallmetalcylinderallowedtheavatarwhopossessedittotransformintoUltramanonceaday,foruptothreeminutes.Sincetherewerethreeofus,therewasadebateoverwhoshouldbeallowed

to keep the artifact. “Parzival should have it,” Shoto had said, turning to hisolderbrother.“Hefoundthisquest.Wewouldn’tevenhaveknownaboutit,wereitnotforhim.”

Of course, Daito had disagreed. “And he would not have been able tocompletethequestwithoutourhelp!”Hesaidtheonlyfairthingtodowouldbetoauctionoff theBetaCapsuleandsplit theproceeds.But therewasnowayIcouldallowthat.Theartifactwasfar toovaluable tosell,andIknewitwouldendup in the hands of theSixers, because theypurchasednearly everymajorartifact that went up for auction. I also saw this as an opportunity to get onDaisho’sgoodside.“You two should keep the Beta Capsule,” I said. “Urutoraman is Japan’s

greatestsuperhero.HispowersbelonginJapanesehands.”Theywere both surprised and humbled bymy generosity. EspeciallyDaito.

“Thankyou,Parzival-san,”hesaid,bowinglow.“Youareamanofhonor.”Afterthat,thethreeofushadpartedasfriends,ifnotnecessarilyallies,andI

consideredthatanamplerewardformyefforts.A chime sounded in my ears and I checked the time. It was almost eight

o’clock.Timetomakethedoughnuts.

Iwasalwayshard-upforcash,nomatterhowfrugalItriedtobe.Ihadseverallargebillstopayeachmonth,bothintherealworldandintheOASIS.Myreal-world expenses were pretty standard. Rent, electricity, food, water. Hardwarerepairs and upgrades. My avatar’s expenses were far more exotic. Spacecraftrepairs.Teleportationfees.Powercells.Ammunition.Ipurchasedmyammoinbulk, but it still wasn’t cheap. And my monthly teleportation expenses wereoftenastronomical.Mysearchfortheeggrequiredconstanttravel,andGSSkeptraisingtheirteleportationfares.I’dalreadyspentallofmyremainingproductendorsementdough.Mostofit

wenttowardthecostofmyrigandbuyingmyownasteroid.IearnedadecentamountofmoneyeachmonthbysellingcommercialtimeonmyPOVchannelandbyauctioningoffanyunneededmagicitems,armor,orweaponsIacquiredduringmytravels.Butmyprimarysourceofincomewasmyfull-timejobdoingOASIStechnicalsupport.When I’d createdmynewBryceLynch identity, I’d givenmyself a college

degree, along with multiple technical certifications and a long, sterling workrecord as an OASIS programmer and app developer. However, despite mysterling bogus résumé, the only job I’d been able to get was as a tier-onetechnical support representative at Helpful Helpdesk Inc., one of the contractfirmsGSSusedtohandleOASIScustomerserviceandsupport.NowIworkedfortyhoursaweek,helpingmoronsreboottheirOASISconsolesandupdatethedriversfortheirhapticgloves.Itwasgruelingwork,butitpaidtherent.

I loggedoutofmyownOASISaccount and thenusedmy rig to log into aseparateOASISaccountI’dbeenissuedforwork.Thelog-inprocesscompletedandI tookcontrolofaHappyHelpdeskavatar,acookie-cutterKendoll that Iused to take tech-support calls.This avatar appeared inside ahugevirtual callcenter, inside a virtual cubicle, sitting at a virtual desk, in front of a virtualcomputer,wearingavirtualphoneheadset.Ithoughtofthisplaceasmyownprivatevirtualhell.HelpfulHelpdesk Inc. tookmillionsof calls aday, fromall over theworld.

Twenty-four seven, three sixty-five.One angry, befuddled cretin after another.There was no downtime between calls, because there were always severalhundredmoronsinthecallqueue,allofthemwillingtowaitonholdforhourstohaveatechrepholdtheirhandandfixtheirproblem.Whybotherlookingupthesolutiononline?Whytrytofiguretheproblemoutonyourownwhenyoucouldhavesomeoneelsedoyourthinkingforyou?As usual, my ten-hour shift passed slowly. It was impossible for helpdesk

avatarstoleavetheircubicles,butIfoundotherwaystopassthetime.Myworkaccountwas rigged so that I couldn’t browseoutsidewebsites, but I’d hackedmyvisortoallowmetolistentomusicorstreammoviesoffmyharddrivewhileItookcalls.WhenmyshiftfinallyendedandIloggedoutofwork,Iimmediatelylogged

back into my own OASIS account. I had thousands of new e-mail messageswaiting,andIcouldtelljustbytheirsubjectlineswhathadhappenedwhileI’dbeenatwork.Art3mishadfoundtheJadeKey.

Likeotherguntersaroundtheglobe,I’dbeendreadingthenextchangeonthe Scoreboard, because I knew it was going to give the Sixers an unfairadvantage.Afewmonthsafterwe’dallclearedtheFirstGate,ananonymousavatarhad

placedanultrapowerfulartifactupforauction.ItwascalledFyndoro’sTabletofFinding,andithaduniquepowersthatcouldgiveitsownerahugeadvantageinthehuntforHalliday’sEasteregg.MostofthevirtualitemsintheOASISwerecreatedbythesystematrandom,

andtheywould“drop”whenyoukilledanNPCorcompletedaquest.Therarestsuch items were artifacts, superpowerful magic items that gave their ownersincredible abilities.Only a fewhundredof these artifacts existed, andmostofthemdatedbacktotheearliestdaysoftheOASIS,whenitwasstillprimarilyanMMOgame.Everyartifactwasunique,meaningthatonlyonecopyofitexistedintheentiresimulation.Usually,thewaytoobtainanartifactwastodefeatsomegodlike villain at the end of a high-level quest. If you got lucky, the bad guywoulddropanartifactwhenyoukilledhim.Youcouldalsoobtainanartifactbykillinganavatarwhohadoneinitsinventory,orbypurchasingoneinanonlineauction.Since artifactswere so rare, itwas always big newswhen onewent up for

auction. Some had been known to sell for hundreds of thousands of credits,depending on their powers. The record had been set three years agowhen anartifactcalled theCataclystwasauctionedoff.According to itsauction listing,theCataclystwasasortofmagicalbomb,anditcouldbeusedonlyonce.Whenit was detonated, it would kill every single avatar and NPC in the sector,including its owner. There was no defense against it. If you were unluckyenoughtobeinthesamesectorwhenitwentoff,youwereagoner,regardlessofhowpowerfulorwellprotectedyouwere.TheCataclysthadsoldtoananonymousbidderforjustoveramillioncredits.

The artifact still hadn’t been detonated, so its new owner still had it sitting

around somewhere,waiting for the right time to use it. Itwas something of arunningjokenow.Whenagunterwassurroundedbyavatarsshedidn’tlike,shewouldclaim tohave theCataclyst inher inventoryand threaten todetonate it.But most people suspected that the item had actually fallen into the Sixers’hands,alongwithcountlessotherpowerfulartifacts.Fyndoro’s Tablet of Finding wound up selling for even more than the

Cataclyst. According to the auction description, the tablet was a flat circle ofpolishedblackstone,and ithadoneverysimplepower.Onceaday, itsownercouldwriteanyavatar’snameon its surface,and the tabletwoulddisplay thatavatar’s location at that exact moment. However, this power had rangelimitations. If youwere in a differentOASIS sector than the avatar youweretrying to find, the tablet would tell you only which sector your target wascurrently in. If youwere already in the same sector, the tabletwould tell youwhatplanetyourtargetwascurrentlyon(orclosestto,iftheywereoutinspace).Ifyouwerealreadyonthesameplanetasyourtargetwhenyouusedthetablet,itwouldshowyoutheirexactcoordinatesonamap.Astheartifact’ssellermadesuretopointoutinhisauctionlisting,ifyouused

the tablet’s power in conjunctionwith the Scoreboard, it arguably became themostvaluableartifactintheentireOASIS.Allyouhadtodowaswatchthetoprankings on the Scoreboard and wait until someone’s score increased. Thesecond that happened, you couldwrite that avatar’s name on the tablet and itwouldtellyouwheretheywereatthatexactmoment,thusrevealingthelocationofthekeythey’djustfound,orthegatethey’djustexited.Duetotheartifact’srangelimitations,itmighttaketwoorthreeattemptstonarrowdowntheexactlocationofakeyoragate,butevenso,thatwasstillinformationalotofpeoplewouldbewillingtokillfor.WhenFyndoro’sTabletofFindingwentup forauction, ahugebiddingwar

brokeoutbetweenseveralofthelargegunterclans.Butwhentheauctionfinallyended, thetabletwoundupsellingtotheSixersforalmost twomillioncredits.SorrentohimselfusedhisownIOIaccounttobidonthetablet.Hewaiteduntilthelastfewsecondsoftheauctionandthenoutbideveryone.Hecouldhavebidanonymously,butheobviouslywanted theworld toknowwhonowpossessedtheartifact.ItwasalsohiswayoflettingthoseofusintheHighFiveknowthatfromthatmomentforward,wheneveroneofusfoundakeyorclearedagate,theSixerswouldbetrackingus.Andtherewasnothingwecoulddoaboutit.Atfirst,IwasworriedtheSixerswouldalsotrytousethetablettohuntdown

eachofouravatarsandkillusoneatatime.Butlocatingouravatarswouldn’tdothemanygoodunlesswehappenedtobeinaPvPzoneatthetimeandwerestupidenough to stayputuntil theSixers could reachus.And since the tablet

could be used only once a day, theywould also run the risk ofmissing theirwindowofopportunityiftheScoreboardchangedonthesamedaytheytriedtouse the tablet to locate one of us. They didn’t take the chance. They kept theartifactinreserveandwaitedfortheirmoment.

Less thanahalfhourafterArt3mis’s score increase, theentireSixer fleetwasspottedconvergingonSectorSeven.Themoment theScoreboardchanged, theSixers had obviously used Fyndoro’s Tablet of Finding to try to ascertainArt3mis’s exact location. Luckily, the Sixer avatar using the tablet (probablySorrentohimself)happenedtobeinadifferentsectorfromArt3mis,sothetabletdidn’trevealwhatplanetshewason.ItonlytoldtheSixerswhichsectorshewascurrentlyin.AndsotheentireSixerfleethadimmediatelyhightailedittoSectorSeven.Thankstotheircompletelackofsubtlety,thewholeworldnowknewtheJade

Keymustbehidden somewhere in that sector.Naturally, thousandsofguntersbegan to converge on it too. The Sixers had narrowed the search area foreveryone. Luckily, Sector Seven contained hundreds of planets, moons, andotherworlds,andtheJadeKeycouldhavebeenhiddenonanyoneofthem.I spent the rest of the day in shock, reeling at the news that I’d been

dethroned. That was exactly how the newsfeed headlines put it: PARZIVALDETHRONED!ART3MISNEW#1GUNTER!SIXERSCLOSINGIN!OnceIfinallygotagrip,IpulleduptheScoreboardandmademyselfstareat

itforthirtysolidminuteswhileImentallyberatedmyself.

HIGHSCORES:1.Art3mis 129,000 2.Parzival 110,000 3.Aech 108,000 4.Daito 107,000 5.Shoto 106,000 6.IOI-655321 105,000 7.IOI-643187 105,000 8.IOI-621671 105,000 9.IOI-678324 105,000 10.IOI-637330 105,000

You’vegotnoonebutyourselftoblame, I toldmyself.Youletsuccessgoto

yourhead.Youslackedoffonyourresearch.What,didyouthinklightningwouldstrike twice?Thateventuallyyou’d just stumbleacross theclueyouneeded tofind theJadeKey?Sitting in firstplaceall that timegaveyoua falsesenseofsecurity. But you don’t have that problem now, do you, asshead?No, becauseinsteadofbucklingdownandfocusingonyourquestlikeyoushouldhave,youpissed away your lead. You wasted almost half a year screwing around andpining over somegirl you’ve never evenmet in person. The girlwho dumpedyou.Thesamegirlwhoisgoingtoendupbeatingyou.Now…getyourheadbackinthegame,moron.Findthatkey.Suddenly,Iwantedtowinthecontestmorethanever.Notjustforthemoney.

IwantedtoprovemyselftoArt3mis.AndIwantedtheHunttobeover,sothatshewould talk tomeagain.So that Icouldfinallymeether inperson,seehertrueface,andtrytomakesenseofhowIfeltabouther.IclearedtheScoreboardoffmydisplayandopenedupmygraildiary,which

had now grown into a vast mountain of data containing every scrap ofinformation I’d collected since the contest began. It appeared as a jumble ofcascadingwindows floating in front ofme, displaying text,maps, photos, andaudioandvideofiles,allindexed,cross-referenced,andpulsingwithlife.Ikept theQuatrainopen inawindow thatwasalwayson top.Four linesof

text.Twenty-fourwords.Thirty-foursyllables.I’dstaredatthemsooftenandforsolongthatthey’dnearlylostallmeaning.Lookingatthemagainnow,Ihadtoresisttheurgetoscreaminrageandfrustration.

ThecaptainconcealstheJadeKeyinadwellinglongneglected

Butyoucanonlyblowthewhistleoncethetrophiesareallcollected

Iknewtheanswerwasrightthereinfrontofme.Art3mishadalreadyfigured

itout.I read over my notes about John Draper, aka Captain Crunch, and the toy

plastic whistle that hadmade him famous in the annals of hacker lore. I stillbelieved that thesewere the“captain”and“whistle”Hallidaywasreferring to.ButtherestoftheQuatrain’smeaningremainedamystery.ButnowIpossessedanewpieceofinformation—thekeywassomewherein

SectorSeven.So I pulledupmyOASISatlas andbegan to search forplanetswithnamesIthoughtmightsomehowberelatedtotheQuatrain.Ifoundafew

worldsnamedafterfamoushackers,likeWozandMitnick,butnonenamedafterJohnDraper. SectorSeven also containedhundreds ofworlds named after oldUsenet newsgroups, andononeof these, theplanet alt.phreaking, therewas astatueofDraperposingwithanancient rotaryphone inonehandandaCap’nCrunchwhistle in the other. But the statue had been erected three years afterHalliday’sdeath,soIknewitwasadeadend.IreadthroughtheQuatrainyetagain,andthistimethelasttwolinesjumped

outatme:

Butyoucanonlyblowthewhistleoncethetrophiesareallcollected

Trophies.SomewhereinSectorSeven.Ineededtofindacollectionoftrophies

inSectorSeven.IdidaquicksearchofmyfilesonHalliday.FromwhatIcouldtell,theonly

trophieshe’deverownedwerethefiveGameDesigneroftheYearawardshe’dwonbackaroundtheturnofthecentury.ThesetrophieswerestillondisplayintheGSSMuseuminColumbus,buttherewerereplicasofthemondisplayinsidetheOASIS,onaplanetcalledArchaide.AndArchaidewaslocatedinSectorSeven.The connection seemed thin, but I stillwanted to check it out.At the very

least,itwouldmakemefeellikeIwasdoingsomethingproductiveforthenextfewhours.I glanced over atMax, who was currently doing the samba on one of my

commandcenter’smonitors.“Max,preptheVonnegutfortakeoff.Ifyou’renottoobusy.”Maxstoppeddancingandsmirkedatme.“Yougotit,ElComanchero!”Igotupandwalkedovertomystronghold’selevator,whichI’dmodeledafter

the turbolift on the original Star Trek series. I rode down four levels to myarmory, amassivevault filledwith storage shelves,displaycases, andweaponracks. I pulled upmy avatar’s inventory display, which appeared as a classic“paper doll” diagramofmy avatar, ontowhich I could drag and drop variousitemsandpiecesofequipment.ArchaidewaslocatedinaPvPzone,soIdecidedtoupgrademygearandwear

my Sunday best. I put on my gleaming +10 Hale Mail powered armor, thenstrappedonmyfavoritesetofblasterpistolsandslungapump-actionpistol-gripshotgunacrossmyback,alongwitha+5VorpalBastardSword.Ialsograbbedafew other essential items. An extra pair of antigrav boots. A Ring of MagicResistance.AnAmuletofProtection.SomeGauntletsofGiantStrength.Ihated

theideaofneedingsomethingandnothavingitwithme,soIusuallyendedupcarrying enough equipment for three gunters.When I ran out of room onmyavatar’sbody,IstoredtheadditionalgearinmyBackpackofHolding.Once I was properly outfitted, I hopped back on the elevator, and a few

secondslaterIarrivedattheentranceofmyhangar,locatedonthebottomlevelofmystronghold.Pulsingbluelightslinedtherunway,whichranupthecenterof the hangar to amassive pair of armored doors at the far end. These doorsopenedintothelaunchtunnel,whichleduptoamatchingsetofarmoreddoorssetintotheasteroid’ssurface.Standingon the left sideof the runwaywasmybattle-wornX-wing fighter.

ParkedontherightsidewasmyDeLorean.Sittingontherunwayitselfwasmymostfrequentlyusedspacecraft,theVonnegut.Maxhadalreadypowereduptheengines,andtheyemittedalow,steadyroarthatfilledthehangar.TheVonnegutwasaheavilymodifiedFirefly-classtransportvessel,modeledaftertheSerenityintheclassicFireflyTVseries.TheshiphadbeennamedtheKayleewhenI’dfirst obtained it, but I’d immediately rechristened it after one of my favoritetwentieth-century novelists. Its new name was stenciled on the side of itsbatteredgrayhull.I’dlootedtheVonnegutfromacadreofOviraptorclansmenwhohadfoolishly

attempted to hijackmyX-wingwhile Iwas cruising through a large group ofworldsinSectorElevenknownastheWhedonverse.TheOviraptorswerecockybastardswithnocluewhoitwastheyweremessingwith.Iwasinafoulmoodeven before they’d opened fire onme.Otherwise, I probablywould have justevaded them by jumping to light speed. But that day I decided to take theirattackpersonally.Ships were like most other items in the OASIS. Each one had specific

attributes, weapons, and speed capabilities. My X-wing was far moremaneuverablethantheOviraptors’largetransportship,soitwasnotroubleforme to avoid thebarrage from their aftermarketguns,while I bombarded themwith laserboltsandproton torpedoes.After Idisabled theirengines, Iboardedtheshipandproceededtokilleveryavatarthere.ThecaptaintriedtoapologizewhenhesawwhoIwas,butIwasn’tinaforgivingmood.AfterI’ddispatchedthecrew, IparkedmyX-wing in thecargoholdand thencruisedhome inmynewship.AsIapproachedtheVonnegut,theloadingrampextendedtothehangarfloor.

By the time I reached thecockpit, the shipwasalready liftingoff. Iheard thelandinggearretractwithathudjustasIseatedmyselfatthecontrols.“Max,lockupthehouse,andsetacourseforArchaide.”“Aye, C-c-captain,” Max stuttered from one of the cockpit monitors. The

hangardoorsslidopen,andtheVonnegutrocketedoutthelaunchtunnelandupinto the starry sky. As the ship cleared the surface, the armored tunnel doorsslammedclosedbehindit.I spotted several ships camped out in a high orbit above Falco. The usual

suspects:crazedfans,wannabedisciples,andaspiringbountyhunters.Afewofthem, the ones currently turning to follow me, were tagalongs—people whospentmostoftheirtimetryingtotailprominentguntersandgatherintelontheirmovements so they could sell the information later. Iwas always able to losetheseidiotsbyjumpingtolightspeed.Aluckythingforthem.IfIcouldn’tlosesomeonewhowastryingtotailme,Iusuallyhadnochoicebuttostopandkillthem.As theVonnegut made the jump to light speed, each of the planets on my

viewscreenbecamealongstreakoflight.“Li-li-lightspeedengaged,Captain,”Max reported. “ETA toArchaide is estimated at fifty-threeminutes. Fifteen ifyouwanttousetheneareststargate.”Stargateswerestrategicallylocatedthroughouteachsector.Theywerereally

justgiantspaceship-sizedteleporters,butsincetheychargedbythemassofyourship and the distance youwanted to travel, theywere normally used only bycorporationsorextremelywealthyavatarswithcreditstoburn.Iwasneither,butunderthecircumstances,Iwaswillingtosplurgealittle.“Let’stakethestargate,Max.We’reinkindofahurry.”

TheVonnegutdroppedoutof lightspeed,andArchaidesuddenly filled thecockpit viewscreen. It stood out from the other planets in the area because itwasn’t coded to look real. All of the neighboring planets were perfectlyrendered, with clouds, continents, or impact craters covering their curvedsurfaces.ButArchaidehadnoneof these features,because itwashome to theOASIS’s largest classic videogame museum, and its appearance had beendesignedasatributetothevector-graphicgamesofthelate’70sandearly’80s.Theplanet’sonlysurfacefeaturewasawebofglowinggreendotssimilartothegroundlightsonanairportrunway.Theywerespacedevenlyacrosstheglobeinaperfectgrid,sothat,fromorbit,Archaideresembledthevector-graphicDeathStarfromAtari’s1983StarWarsarcadegame.As Max piloted the Vonnegut down to the surface, I prepared for the

possibility of combat by charging up my armor and buffing my avatar withseveralpotionsandnanopacks.ArchaidewasbothaPvPzoneandachaoszone,whichmeantthatbothmagicandtechnologyfunctionedhere.SoImadesuretoloadupallofmycombatcontingencymacros.TheVonnegut’sperfectlyrenderedsteelloadingramploweredtotheground,

standingoutinsharpcontrastagainstthedigitalblacknessofArchaide’ssurface.As I stepped off the ramp, I tapped a keypad on my right wrist. The rampretracted,andtherewasasharphumas theship’ssecuritysystemactivated.AtransparentblueshieldappearedaroundtheVonnegut’shull.I gazed around at the horizon, which was just a jagged green vector line,

denotingmountainousterrain.Hereonthesurface,Archaidelookedexactlylikethe environment of the 1981 game Battlezone, another vector-graphic classicfromAtari. In the distance, a triangular volcano spewed green pixels of lava.You could run toward that volcano for days and never reach it. It alwaysremained at the horizon. Just like in an old videogame, the scenery neverchangedonArchaide,evenifyoucircumnavigatedtheglobe.Followingmy instructions,Maxhad set theVonnegutdown ina landing lot

near the equator in the eastern hemisphere. The lot was empty, and thesurroundingareaappeareddeserted.Iheadedtowardthenearestgreendot.AsIapproached, Icouldsee that itwasactually themouthofanentrance tunnel,aneongreencircle tenmeters indiameter leadingbelowground.Archaidewasahollowplanet,andthemuseumexhibitswerealllocatedbeneaththesurface.As I approached the nearest tunnel entrance, I heard loudmusic emanating

from below. I recognized the song as “Pour Some Sugar on Me” by DefLeppard,off theirHysteria album(EpicRecords,1987). I reached theedgeoftheglowinggreenringandjumpedin.Asmyavatarplummeteddownintothemuseum, the green vector-graphic theme disappeared and I found myself inhigh-resolution full-color surroundings. Everything around me lookedcompletelyrealonceagain.Belowitssurface,Archaidehoused thousandsofclassicvideoarcades,each

onealovingre-creationofanactualarcadethathadonceexistedsomewhereinthe real world. Since the dawn of theOASIS, thousands of elderly users hadcome here and painstakingly coded virtual replicas of local arcades theyremembered from their childhood, thusmaking them a permanent part of themuseum.And each of these simulated game rooms, bowling alleys, and pizzajointswaslinedwithclassicarcadegames.Therewasatleastonecopyofeverycoin-operatedvideogameevermadedownhere.TheoriginalgameROMswereallstoredintheplanet’sOASIScode,andtheirwoodengamecabinetswereeachcoded to look like the antique originals. Hundreds of shrines and exhibitsdevotedtovariousgamedesignersandpublisherswerealsoscatteredthroughoutthemuseum.The museum’s various levels were comprised of vast caverns linked by a

networkofsubterraneanstreets,tunnels,staircases,elevators,escalators,ladders,slides, trapdoors, and secret passageways. It was like a massive undergroundmultilevel labyrinth.The layoutmade itextremelyeasy toget lost, so Ikeptathree-dimensionalholographicmaponmydisplay.Myavatar’spresentlocationwas indicated by a flashing blue dot. I’d entered the museum next to an oldarcadecalledAladdin’sCastle,closetothesurface.Itouchedapointonthemapnearthecoreoftheplanet,indicatingmydestination,andthesoftwaremappedthequickestrouteformetogetthere.Iranforward,followingit.The museum was divided into layers. Here, near the planet’s mantle, you

could find the last coin-operated videogames ever made, from the first fewdecades of the twenty-first century. These were mostly dedicated simulatorcabinets with first-generation haptics—vibrating chairs and tilting hydraulicplatforms. Lots of networked stock car simulators that allowed people to raceeach other. These games were the last of their kind. By that era, home

videogameconsoleshadalreadymademost coin-opgamesobsolete.After theOASISwentonline,theystoppedmakingthemaltogether.As you ventured deeper into themuseum, the games grew older andmore

archaic.Turn-of-the-centurycoin-ops.Lotsofhead-to-headfightinggameswithblockypolygon-renderedfiguresbeatingthecrapoutofeachotheronlargeflat-screenmonitors.Shootinggamesplayedwithcrudehaptic lightguns.Dancinggames. Once you reached the level below that, the games all began to lookidentical. Each was housed in a large rectangular wooden box containing acathodepicture tubewith a set of crudegame controlsmounted in front of it.Youusedyourhands andyour eyes (andoccasionallyyour feet) toplay thesegames.Therewerenohaptics.Thesegamesdidn’tmakeyoufeelanything.AndthedeeperIdescended,thecruderthegamegraphicsgot.Themuseum’sbottomlevel,locatedintheplanetcore,wasasphericalroom

containing a shrine to the very first videogame, Tennis for Two, invented byWilliamHiginbothamin1958.Thegameranonanancientanalogcomputerandwasplayedonatinyoscilloscopescreenaboutfiveinchesindiameter.Nexttoitwasa replicaofanancientPDP-1computer runningacopyofSpacewar!, thesecondvideogameevermade,createdbyabunchofstudentsatMITin1962.Likemostgunters, I’dalreadyvisitedArchaidea few times. I’dbeen to the

coreandhadplayedbothTennisforTwoandSpacewar!untilI’dmasteredthem.Then I’d wandered around the museums’ many levels, playing games andlookingforcluesHallidaymighthaveleftbehind.ButI’dneverfoundanything.I kept running, farther and farther down, until I reached the Gregarious

Simulation SystemsMuseum, which was located just a few levels above theplanet core. I’d been here once before too, so I knewmyway around. Therewere exhibits devoted to all of GSS’s most popular games, including severalarcade ports of titles they’d originally released for home computers andconsoles.Itdidn’ttakemelongtofindtheexhibitwhereHalliday’sfiveGameDesigneroftheYeartrophiesweredisplayed,nexttoabronzestatueofthemanhimself.Withinafewminutes,IknewIwaswastingmytimehere.TheGSSMuseum

exhibit was coded so that it was impossible to remove any of the items ondisplay,sothetrophiescouldnotbe“collected.”Ispentafewminutestryinginvain to cut one of them free of its pedestalwith a laserwelding torch beforecallingitquits.Anotherdeadend.Thiswhole triphadbeenawasteof time.I tookonelast

lookaroundandheadedfortheexit,tryingnottoletmyfrustrationgetthebestofme.Idecidedtotakeadifferentrouteonmywaybackuptothesurface,througha

section of the museum I’d never fully explored on my previous visits. Iwandered through a series of tunnels that led me into a giant, cavernouschamber. It contained a kind of underground city comprised entirely of pizzajoints, bowling alleys, convenience stores, and, of course, video arcades. Iwandered through themazeof empty streets, thendownawindingback alleythatdead-endedbytheentranceofasmallpizzashop.IfrozeinmytrackswhenIsawthenameoftheplace.ItwascalledHappytimePizza,anditwasareplicaofasmallfamily-runpizza

joint that had existed in Halliday’s hometown in the mid-1980s. Hallidayappeared to have copied the code for Happytime Pizza from hisMiddletownsimulationandhiddenaduplicateofithereintheArchaidemuseum.Whatthehellwasitdoinghere?I’dneverseenitsexistencementionedonany

oftheguntermessageboardsorstrategyguides.Wasitpossiblenoonehadeverspotteditbeforenow?HallidaymentionedHappytimePizzaseveraltimesintheAlmanac,soIknew

hehadfondmemoriesofthisplace.He’doftencomehereafterschool,toavoidgoinghome.Theinteriorre-createdtheatmosphereofaclassic’80spizzaparlorandvideo

arcade in loving detail. Several NPC employees stood behind the counter,tossingdough and slicingpies. (I turnedonmyOlfatrix tower anddiscoveredthat I could actually smell the tomato sauce.) The shopwas divided into twohalves,thegameroomandthediningroom.Thediningroomhadvideogamesinit as well—all of the glass-top tables were actually sit-down arcade gamesknownas“cocktailcabinets.”YoucouldsitandplayDonkeyKongonthetablewhileyouateyourpizza.If I’dbeenhungry, I couldhaveordereda real sliceofpizzaat thecounter.

The order would have been forwarded to a pizza vendor near my apartmentcomplex, theoneI’dspecifiedinmyOASISaccount’sfoodservicepreferencesettings. Then a slice would have been delivered to my door in a matter ofminutes,andthecost(includingtip)wouldhavebeendeductedfrommyOASISaccountbalance.AsIwalkedintothegameroom,IheardaBryanAdamssongblastingoutof

the speakers mounted on the carpeted walls. Bryan was singing about how,everywherehewent,thekidswantedtorock.Ipressedmythumbtoaplateonthechangemachineandboughtasinglequarter.Iscoopeditoutofthestainless-steel tray and headed to the back of the game room, taking in all of thesimulation’slittledetails.IspottedahandwrittennotetapedtothemarqueeofaDefender game. It read BEAT THE OWNER’S HIGH SCORE AND WIN A FREE LARGEPIZZA!

A Robotron game was currently displaying its high-score list. Robotronallowed its all-time best player to enter an entire sentence of text beside theirscore instead of just their initials, and this machine’s top dog had used hisprecious victory space to announce that Vice-Principal Rundberg is a totaldouchebag!IcontinuedfartherintothedarkelectroniccaveandwalkeduptoaPac-Man

machineattheverybackoftheroom,wedgedbetweenaGalagaandaDigDug.The black-and-yellow cabinet was covered with chips and scratches, and thegarishside-artwaspeeling.ThePac-Mangame’smonitorwasdark,andtherewasanOUTOFORDER sign

tapedtoit.WhywouldHallidayincludeabrokengameinthissimulation?Wasthisjustanotheratmosphericdetail?Intrigued,Idecidedtoinvestigatefurther.Ipulledthegamecabinetoutfromthewallandsawthatthepowercordwas

unplugged.Ipluggeditbackintothewallsocketandwaitedforthegametobootup.Itseemedtoworkfine.AsIwasshovingthecabinetbackintoplace,Ispottedsomething.Atthetop

ofthegame,restingonthemetalbracethatheldtheglassmarqueeinplace,wasa single quarter. The date on the coinwas 1981—the year Pac-Man had beenreleased.Iknewthatbackinthe’80s,placingyourquarteronagame’smarqueewas

howyoureservedthenextturnonthemachine.ButwhenItriedtoremovethequarter,itwouldn’tbudge.Likeitwasweldedinplace.Weird.IslappedtheOUTOFORDERsignontheneighboringGalagacabinetandlooked

at thestart-upscreen,whichwas listingoff thegame’svillainousghosts: Inky,Blinky,Pinky,andClyde.Thehighscoreatthetopofthescreenwas3,333,350points.Several thingswerestrangeabout this.Intherealworld,Pac-Manmachines

didn’tsavetheirhighscoreiftheywereunplugged.Andthehigh-scorecounterwassupposedtoflipoverat1,000,000points.Butthismachinedisplayedahighscore of 3,333,350 points—just 10 points shy of the highest Pac-Man scorepossible.Theonlywaytobeatthatscorewouldbetoplayaperfectgame.I feltmypulsequicken. I’duncovered somethinghere.Some sort ofEaster

egg,hiddeninsidethisoldcoin-opvideogame.Itwasn’ttheEasteregg.JustanEasteregg.Somesortofchallengeorpuzzle,oneIwasalmostcertainhadbeencreatedandplacedherebyHalliday.Ididn’tknowifithadanythingtodowiththeJadeKey. Itmightnotbe related to theeggatall.But therewasonlyonewaytofindout.

IwouldhavetoplayaperfectgameofPac-Man.Thiswasnoeasyfeat.Youhadtoplayall256levelsperfectly,allthewayup

tothefinalsplit-screen.Andyouhadtoeateverysingledot,energizer,fruit,andghostpossiblealongtheway,withouteverlosingasinglelife.Lessthantwentyperfect games had been documented in the game’s sixty-year history. One ofthem, the fastest perfect game ever played, had been accomplished by JamesHallidayinjustunderfourhours.He’ddoneitonanoriginalPac-ManmachinelocatedintheGregariousGamesbreakroom.Because IknewHalliday loved thegame, I’dalreadydonea fairamountof

researchonPac-Man.ButI’dnevermanagedtoplayaperfectgame.Ofcourse,I’dneverreallymadeaseriousattempt.Upuntilnow,I’dneverhadareasonto.IopenedmygraildiaryandpulledupallofthePac-Man–relateddataI’dever

collected. The original game code. The unabridged biography of the designer,ToruIwatani.EveryPac-Manstrategyguideeverwritten.Everyepisodeof thePac-Man cartoon series. The ingredients for Pac-Man cereal. And, of course,patterns.IhadPac-Manpatterndiagramsoutthewazoo,alongwithhundredsofhours of archived video of the best Pac-Man players in history. I’d alreadystudied a lot of this stuff, but I skimmed over it again now to refresh mymemory.ThenIclosedmygraildiaryandstudiedthePac-Manmachineinfrontofme,likeagunfightersizingupanopponent.I stretchedmyarms, rolledmyheadandneckaroundonmyshoulders,and

crackedmyknuckles.WhenIdroppedaquarterintotheleftcoinslot, thegameemittedafamiliar

electronicbea-wup! sound. I tapped thePlayerOnebutton, and the firstmazeappearedonthescreen.Iwrappedmyrighthandaround the joystickandbegan toplay,guidingmy

pizza-shapedprotagonist throughonemazeafteranother.Wakka-wakka-wakka-wakka.My synthetic surroundings faded away as I focused on the game and lost

myself in its ancient two-dimensional reality. Just as with Dungeons ofDaggorath,Iwasnowplayingasimulationwithinasimulation.Agamewithinagame.

Ihadseveralfalsestarts.Iwouldplayforanhour,oreventwo;thenI’dmakeonetinymistakeandI’dhavetorebootthemachineandstartallover.ButIwasnow onmy eighth attempt, and I’d been playing for six hours straight. Iwasrockin’ likeDokken.This game had been Iceman-perfect so far. Two-hundredandfifty-fivescreensinandIstillhadn’tmadeasinglemistake.I’dmanagedto

nailallfourghostswitheverysinglepowerpill(untiltheeighteenthmaze,whentheystopturningbluealtogether),andI’dsnaggedeverybonusfruit,bird,bell,andkeythathadappeared,withoutdyingonce.Iwashavingthebestgameofmylife.Thiswasit.Icouldfeelit.Everything

wasfinallyfallingintoplace.Ihadtheglow.Therewasaspotineachmaze,justabovethestartingposition,whereitwas

possibleto“hide”Pac-Manforuptofifteenminutes.Inthatlocation,theghostscouldn’t find him.Using this trick, I’d been able to take two quick food andbathroombreaksduringthepastsixhours.AsIchompedmywaythroughthe255thscreen, thesong“Pac-ManFever”

begantoblastoutofthegameroomstereo.Asmilecreptontomyface.Iknewthishadtobeasmalltip-of-the-hatfromHalliday.Sticking to my tried-and-true pattern one last time, I whipped the joystick

right, slid into the secretdoor, thenout theopposite sideand straightdown tosnagthelastfewremainingdots,clearingtheboard.Itookadeepbreathastheoutlineofthebluemazebegantopulsewhite.AndthenIsawit,staringmeintheface.Thefabledsplit-screen.Theendofthegame.Then,intheworstcaseofbadtimingimaginable,aScoreboardalertflashed

onmydisplay,justafewsecondsafterIbegantoplaythroughthefinalscreen.The top ten rankingsappeared, superimposedovermyviewof thePac-Man

screen,andIglancedatthemjustlongenoughtoseethatAechhadnowbecomethesecondpersontofindtheJadeKey.Hisscorehadjustjumped19,000points,puttinghiminsecondplaceandknockingmeintothird.Bysomemiracle,Imanagednottoflipout.IstayedfocusedonmyPac-Man

game.I gripped the joystick tighter, refusing to let thiswreckmy concentration. I

wasnearlyfinished!Ionlyhadtomilkthefinal6,760possiblepointsfromthislastgarbledmazeandthenIwouldfinallyhavethehighscore.Myheart pounded in timewith themusic as I cleared the unblemished left

half of the maze. Then I ventured into the twisted terrain of the right half,guidingPac-Manthroughthepixelatedon-screenrefuseofthegame’sdepletedmemory.Hiddenunderneathallofthosejunkspritesandgarbledgraphicswerenine more dots, worth ten points each. I couldn’t see them, but I had theirlocationsmemorized. Iquicklyfoundandateallnine,gaining90morepoints.ThenIturnedandranintothenearestghost—Clyde—andcommittedPacicide,dying for the first time in the game. Pac-Man froze and withered intonothingnesswithanextendedbeeewup.EachtimePac-Mandiedonthisfinalmaze,theninehiddendotsreappeared

on the deformed right half of the screen. So to achieve the game’smaximum

possible score, I had to find and eat each of those dots fivemore times, oncewitheachofmyfiveremaininglives.IdidmybestnottothinkaboutAech,whoIknewmustbeholdingtheJade

Keyatthatverymoment.Rightnow,hewasprobablyreadingwhatevercluewasetchedintoitssurface.Ipulledthejoysticktotheright,weavingthroughthedigitaldebrisonefinal

time. I could have done it blindfolded by now. I fish-hooked aroundPinky tograbthetwodotsnearthebottom,thenanotherthreeinthecenter,andthenthelastfournearthetop.I’ddoneit.Ihadthenewhighscore:3,333,360points.Aperfectgame.Itookmyhandsoffthecontrolsandwatchedasallfourghostsconvergedon

Pac-Man.GAMEOVERflashedinthecenterofthemaze.Iwaited.Nothing happened.After a few seconds, the game’s attract screen

camebackup,showingthefourghosts,theirnames,andtheirnicknames.Mygazeshottothequartersittingontheedgeofthemarqueebrace.Earlierit

hadbeenweldedinplace,unmovable.Butnowittumbledforwardandfellend-over-end,landingdirectlyinthepalmofmyavatar’shand.Thenitvanished,anda message flashed on my display informing me that the quarter hadautomaticallybeenaddedtomyinventory.WhenItriedtotakeitbackoutandexamineit,IfoundthatIcouldn’t.Thequartericonremainedinmyinventory.Icouldn’ttakeitoutordropit.If the quarter had anymagical properties, theyweren’t revealed in its item

description, which was completely empty. To learn anything more about thequarter, Iwouldhavetocastaseriesofhigh-leveldivinationspellsonit.Thatwouldtakedaysandrequirealotofexpensivespellcomponents,andeventhentherewasnoguaranteethespellswouldtellmeanything.Butat themoment, Iwashavingahard timecaringall thatmuchabout the

mysteryof theundroppablequarter.AllIcouldthinkaboutwasthatAechandArt3mishadnowbothbeatenmetotheJadeKey.Andgettingthehighscoreonthis Pac-Man game on Archaide obviously hadn’t gotten me any closer tofindingitmyself.Ireallyhadbeenwastingmytimehere.I headed back up to the planet’s surface. Just as I was sitting down in the

Vonnegut’s cockpit, an e-mail fromAech arrived inmy inbox. I feltmypulsequickenwhenIsawitssubjectline:PaybackTime.Holdingmybreath,Iopenedthemessageandreadit:

DearParzival,

YouandIareofficiallyevennow,gotthat?Iconsidermydebttoyou

herebypaidinfull.

Betterhurry.TheSixersmustalreadybeontheirwaythere.

Goodluck,Aech

Belowhissignaturewasanimagefilehe’dattachedtothemessage.Itwasa

high-resolutionscanoftheinstructionmanualcoverforthetextadventuregameZork—theversionreleasedin1980byPersonalSoftwarefortheTRS-80ModelIII.I’dplayedandsolvedZorkonce,alongtimeago,backduringthefirstyearof

theHunt.ButI’dalsoplayedhundredsofotherclassictextadventuregamesthatyear,includingallofZork’ssequels,andsomostofthedetailsofthegamehadnow faded in my memory. Most old text adventure games were pretty self-explanatory,soI’dneveractuallybotheredtoreadtheZorkinstructionmanual.Inowknewthatthishadabeenacolossalmistake.On themanual’s coverwas a painting depicting a scene from the game.A

swashbuckling adventurer wearing armor and a winged helmet stood with aglowing blue sword raised over his head, preparing to strike a troll coweringbefore him. The adventurer clutched several treasures in his other hand, andmore treasures lay at his feet, scattered among human bones. A dark, fangedcreaturelurkedjustbehindthehero,gloweringmalevolently.Allofthiswasinthepainting’sforeground,butmyeyeshadinstantlylocked

onwhat was in the background: a large white house, with its front door andwindowsallboardedup.Adwellinglongneglected.Istaredattheimageafewmoreseconds,justlongenoughtocursemyselffor

notmakingtheconnectiononmyown,monthsago.ThenIfiredtheVonnegut’sengines and set a course for another planet in Sector Seven, not far fromArchaide. It was small world called Frobozz that was home to a detailed re-creationofthegameZork.Itwasalso,Inowknew,thehidingplaceoftheJadeKey.

Frobozz was located in a group of several hundred rarely visited worldsknownastheXYZZYCluster.Theseplanetsalldatedbacktotheearlydaysofthe OASIS, and each one re-created the environment of some classic textadventuregameorMUD(multi-userdungeon).Eachoftheseworldswasakindofshrine—aninteractivetributetotheOASIS’searliestancestors.Text adventure games (often referred to as “interactive fiction” by modern

scholars) used text to create the virtual environment the player inhabited. Thegame program provided you with a simple written description of yoursurroundings, then asked what you wanted to do next. To move around orinteractwithyourvirtualsurroundings,youkeyedintextcommandstellingthegame what you wanted your avatar to do. These instructions had to be verysimple,usuallycomposedofjusttwoorthreewords,suchas“gosouth”or“getsword.” If a command was too complex, the game’s simple parsing enginewouldn’t be able to understand it.By reading and typing text, youmadeyourway through the virtualworld, collecting treasure, fightingmonsters, avoidingtraps,andsolvingpuzzlesuntilyoufinallyreachedtheendofthegame.Thefirst textadventuregameI’deverplayedwascalledColossalCave,and

initially the text-only interfacehadseemed incredibly simpleandcrude tome.But afterplaying for a fewminutes, I quicklybecame immersed in the realitycreatedbythewordsonthescreen.Somehow,thegame’ssimpletwo-sentenceroomdescriptionswereabletoconjureupvividimagesinmymind’seye.Zork was one of the earliest and most famous text adventure games.

Accordingtomygraildiary,I’dplayedthegamethroughtotheendjustonce,allinoneday,overfouryearsago.Sincethen,inashockingdisplayofunforgivableignorance,I’dsomehowforgottentwoveryimportantdetailsaboutthegame:

1.Zorkbeganwithyourcharacterstandingoutsideashutteredwhitehouse.2.Insidethelivingroomofthatwhitehousetherewasatrophycase.

Tocompletethegame,everytreasureyoucollectedhadtobereturnedtothelivingroomandplacedinsidethetrophycase.Finally,therestoftheQuatrainmadesense.

ThecaptainconcealstheJadeKeyinadwellinglongneglected

Butyoucanonlyblowthewhistleoncethetrophiesareallcollected

Decadesago,Zorkanditssequelshadallbeenlicensedandre-createdinside

theOASISasstunning three-dimensional immersivesimulationsall locatedontheplanetFrobozz,whichwasnamedafteracharacterintheZorkuniverse.Sothedwelling longneglected—theone I’dbeen trying to locate for thepast sixmonths—had been sitting right out in the open on Frobozz this entire time.Hidinginplainsight.

I checked the ship’s navigational computer. Traveling at light speed, it wouldtakemejustoverfifteenminutestoreachFrobozz.TherewasagoodchancetheSixerswouldbeatmethere.Iftheydid,therewouldprobablyalreadybeasmallarmadaofSixergunshipswaitinginorbitaroundtheplanetwhenIdroppedoutoflightspeed.Iwouldhavetofightmywaythroughthemtoreachthesurface,andtheneither lose them,or try tofindtheJadeKeywith themstillbreathingdownmyneck.Notagoodscenario.Luckily,Ihadabackupplan.MyRingofTeleportation.Itwasoneofthemost

valuablemagicitemsinmyinventory,lootedfromthehoardofareddragonI’dslain onGygax. The ring allowedmy avatar to teleport once amonth, to anylocationintheOASIS.Ionlyuseditindireemergenciesasalast-ditchmeansofescape,orwhenIneededtogetsomewhereinabighurry.Likerightnow.IquicklyprogrammedtheVonnegut’sonboardcomputertoautopilottheship

toFrobozz.Iinstructedittoactivateitscloakingdeviceassoonasitdroppedoutof hyperspace, then locate me on the planet’s surface and land somewherenearby.IfIwaslucky,theSixerswouldn’tdetectmyshipandblastitoutoftheskybeforeitcouldreachme.Iftheydid,I’dbestuckonFrobozzwithnowaytoleave,whiletheentireSixerarmyclosedinonme.I engaged theVonnegut’s autopilot, then activatedmyRingofTeleportation

byspeakingthecommandword,“Brundell.”Whentheringbegantoglow,Isaidthe name of the planet where I wished to teleport. A world map of Frobozzappearedonmydisplay.Itwasalargeworld,andliketheplanetMiddletown,its

surfacewascoveredwithhundredsofidenticalcopiesofthesamesimulation—inthiscase,re-creationsoftheZorkplayingfield.Therewere512copiesofit,tobeexact,whichmeanttherewere512whitehouses,spacedoutevenlyacrosstheplanet’ssurface.IshouldbeabletoobtaintheJadeKeyatanyoneofthem,soIselected one of the copies at randomon themap.My ring emitted a blindingflash of light, and a split second later my avatar was there, standing on thesurfaceofFrobozz.IopenedmygraildiaryandlocatedmyoriginalnotesonhowtosolveZork.

ThenIpulledupamapofthegame’splayingfieldandplaceditinthecornerofmydisplay.Surveyingtheskies,Ididn’tseeanysignoftheSixers,butthatdidn’tmean

they hadn’t already arrived. Sorrento and his underlings had probably justteleportedtooneoftheotherplayingfields.EverybodyknewthattheSixershadalreadybeencampedoutinSectorSeven,waitingforthismoment.Assoonasthey saw Aech’s score increase, they would have used Fyndoro’s Tablet ofFindingand learned thathewascurrentlyonFrobozz.Whichmeant theentireSixerarmadawouldalreadybeonitswayhere.SoIneededtogettothekeyasquicklyaspossible,thengetthehellofoutDodge.Itookalookaround.Mysurroundingswereeerilyfamiliar.TheopeningtextdescriptioninthegameZorkreadasfollows:

WESTOFHOUSEYouarestandinginanopenfieldwestofawhitehouse,withaboarded

frontdoor.Thereisasmallmailboxhere.>

Myavatarnowstoodinthatopenfield,justwestofthewhitehouse.Thefront

dooroftheoldVictorianmansionwasboardedup,andtherewasamailboxjustafewyardsawayfromme,attheendofthewalkwayleadingtothehouse.Thehousewassurroundedbyadenseforest,andbeyonditIsawarangeofjaggedmountainpeaks.Glancingoff tomy left, I spottedapath leading to thenorth,rightwhereIknewitshouldbe.Iranaroundtothebackofthehouse.Ifoundasmallwindowthere,slightly

ajar,andIforceditopenandclimbedinside.Asexpected,Ifoundmyselfinthekitchen.Awooden table sat in the center of the room, andon it rested a longbrownsackandabottleofwater.Achimneystoodnearby,andastaircaseleduptotheattic.Ahallwayofftomyleftledtothelivingroom.Justlikethegame.But the kitchen also contained things thatweren’tmentioned in the game’s

text description of this room.A stove, a refrigerator, severalwooden chairs, a

sink,andafewrowsofkitchencabinets.Iopenedthefridge.Itwasfullofjunkfood. Fossilized pizza, snack puddings, lunch meat, and a wide array ofcondimentpackets.Icheckedthecupboards.Theywerefilledwithcannedanddrygoods.Rice,pasta,soup.Andcereal.One entire cupboardwas crammedwith boxes of vintage breakfast cereals,

most of which had been discontinued before I’d been born. Fruit Loops,Honeycombs, Lucky Charms, Count Chocula, Quisp, Frosted Flakes. AndhiddenwayatthebackwasaloneboxofCap’nCrunch.PrintedclearlyonthefrontofitwerethewordsFREETOYWHISTLEINSIDE!ThecaptainconcealstheJadeKey.Idumpedthecontentsoftheboxoutonthecounter,scatteringgoldencereal

nuggetseverywhere.ThenIspottedit—asmallplasticwhistleencasedinaclearcellophaneenvelope.Itoreoffthecellophaneandheldthewhistleinmyhand.Itwasyellowincolor,withthecartoonfaceofCap’nCrunchmoldedononesideand a small dog on the other. Thewords CAP’N CRUNCH BO’SUNWHISTLE wereembossedoneitherside.I raised the whistle to my avatar’s lips and blew into it. But the whistle

emittednosound,andnothinghappened.Youcanonlyblowthewhistleoncethetrophiesareallcollected.Ipocketedthewhistleandopenedthesackonthekitchentable.Isawaclove

ofgarlicinside,andIaddedittomyinventory.ThenIranwest,intothelivingroom.The floorwas coveredwith a largeOriental rug.Antique furniture, thekind I’d seen in films from the 1940s, was positioned around the room. Awoodendoorwithodd characters carved into its surfacewas set into thewestwall.And against the oppositewall therewas a beautiful glass trophy case. Itwasempty.Abattery-poweredlanternsatontopofthecase,andashiningswordwasmountedonthewalldirectlyaboveit.I tooktheswordandthelantern, thenrolleduptheOrientalrug,uncovering

the trapdoor I already knew was hidden underneath. I opened it, revealing astaircasethatleddownintoadarkenedcellar.Iturnedonthelamp.AsIdescendedthestaircase,myswordbegantoglow.

I continued to refer to the Zork notes in my grail diary, which reminded meexactly how to make my way through the game’s labyrinth of rooms,passageways, andpuzzles. I collected all nineteenof thegame’s treasures as Iwent,returningrepeatedlytothelivingroominthewhitehousetoplacetheminthetrophycase,afewatatime.Alongtheway,Ihadtodobattlewithseveral

NPCs:atroll,aCyclops,andareallyannoyingthief.Asforthelegendarygrue,lurkinginthedark,waitingtodineonmyflesh—Isimplyavoidedhim.Aside from the Cap’n Crunch whistle hidden in the kitchen, I found no

surprises or deviations from the original game.To solve this immersive three-dimensional version of Zork, I simply had to perform the exact same actionsrequiredtosolvetheoriginal text-basedgame.Byrunningat topspeedandbynever stopping to sightseeor second-guessmyself, Imanaged to complete thegameintwenty-twominutes.ShortlyafterIcollectedthelastofthegame’snineteentreasures,atinybrass

bauble, a notice flashed in my display informing me that the Vonnegut hadarrivedoutside.Theautopilothadjustlandedtheshipinthefieldtothewestofthewhitehouse.Itscloakingdevicewasstillengagedanditsshieldswereup.IftheSixerswerealreadyhere,inorbitaroundtheplanet,Iwashopingtheyhadn’tspottedmyship.Iranbacktothelivingroomofthewhitehouseonelasttimeandplacedthe

finaltreasureinsidethetrophycase.Justasintheoriginalgame,amapappearedinside the case, directing me to a hidden barrow that marked the end of thegame.But Iwasn’tconcernedwith themaporwithfinishing thegame.Allofthe“trophies”werenow“collected”inthecase,soItookouttheCap’nCrunchwhistle.Ithadthreeholesacrossthetop,andIcoveredthethirdonetogeneratethe2600-hertz tone thathadmade thiswhistle famous in theannalsofhackerhistory.ThenIblewoneclear,shrillnote.The whistle transformed into a small key, andmy score on the scoreboard

increasedby18,000points.Iwasbackinsecondplace,amere1,000pointsaheadofAech.Asecond later, theentireZork simulation reset itself.Thenineteen items in

thetrophycasevanished,returningtotheiroriginallocations,andtherestofthehouseandthegame’splayingfieldreturnedtothesamestateinwhichI’dfoundthem.AsIstaredatthekeyinthepalmofmyhand,Ifeltabriefjoltofpanic.The

keywassilver,notthemilkygreencolorofjade.ButwhenIturnedthekeyoverandexamineditmoreclosely, Isawthat itactuallyappeared tobewrapped insilver foil, like a stick of gum or a bar of chocolate. I carefully peeled thewrapperaway,andakeymadeofpolishedgreenstonewasrevealedinside.TheJadeKey.AndjustliketheCopperKey,Isawthatithadaclueetchedintoitssurface:

Continueyourquestbytakingthetest

Irereaditseveraltimes,buthadnoimmediaterevelationsastoitsmeaning,soIplacedthekeyinmyinventory,thenexaminedthewrapper.Itwassilverfoilonone side andwhite paper on the other. I didn’t see anymarkings on eitherside.Justthen,Iheardthemuffledroarofapproachingspacecraftandknewitmust

betheSixers.Itsoundedliketheywerehereinforce.Ipocketedthewrapperandranoutofthehouse.Overhead,thousandsofSixer

gunships filled the sky like an angry swarm of metal wasps. The ships wereseparating into small groups as they descended, heading off in differentdirections,asiftoblankettheentiresurfaceoftheplanet.Ididn’t think theSixerswouldbe foolishenough to try tobarricadeall512

instancesofthewhitehouse.ThatstrategyhadworkedforthemonLudus,butonlyforafewhours,andthey’donlyhadonelocationtobarricade.TheentireplanetofFrobozzwasinaPvPzone,andbothmagicandtechnologyfunctionedhere, which meant that all bets were off. There would be hordes of guntersarrivingheresoon,armedtotheteeth,andiftheSixerstriedtokeepallofthemat bay, it wouldmeanwar on a scale never before seen in the history of theOASIS.AsIcontinuedrunningacrossthefieldanduptherampofmyship,Ispotteda

large squadron of gunships, about a hundred or so, descending from the skydirectlyabovemylocation.Theyappearedtobeheadedstraightforme.MaxhadalreadypowereduptheVonnegut’sengines,soIshoutedforhimto

liftoffassoonasIwasaboard.WhenIreachedthecockpitcontrols,Ithrewthethrottlewideopen,andthedescendingswarmofSixergunshipsbankedhardtofollowme.Asmyshipblasteditswayskyward,Ibegantotakeheavyfirefromseveraldirections.ButIwaslucky.Myshipwasfast,andmyshieldsweretop-of-the-line,sotheymanagedtoholduplongenoughformetoreachorbit.Butthey failed a few seconds later, and theVonnegut’s hull suffered an alarmingamountofdamageinthehandfulofsecondsittookmetomakethejumptolightspeed.Itwasaclosecall.Thebastardsalmostgotme.

Myshipwas inbadshape, so insteadof returningdirectly tomystronghold, IheadedtoJoe’sGarage,anorbitalstarshiprepairshopoverinSectorTen.Joe’swasanhonestNPC-operatedestablishment,withreasonableratesandlightning-fastservice.IusedthemwhenevertheVonnegutneededrepairsorupgrades.WhileJoeandhisboysworkedonmyship,IsentAechabriefe-mailtosay

thanks. I told him that whatever debt he felt he owed me was now most

definitely paid in full. I also copped to being a colossally insensitive, self-centeredassholeandbeggedhimtoforgiveme.As soon as the repairs to my ship were finished, I headed back to my

stronghold.Then I spent the restof thedayglued to thenewsfeeds.ThewordaboutFrobozzwasout,andeverygunterwiththemeanshadalreadyteleportedthere.Thousandsofotherswerearrivingbyspacecrafteveryminute,todobattlewiththeSixersandsecuretheirowncopyoftheJadeKey.Thenewsfeedswereairinglivecoverageofthehundredsoflarge-scalebattles

breaking out on Frobozz, around nearly every instance of the “dwelling longneglected.” The big gunter clans had once again banded together to launch acoordinated attack on the Sixers’ forces. It was the beginning of what wouldcome to be known as the Battle of Frobozz, and casualties were alreadymountingonbothsides.I also kept a close eye on the Scoreboard,waiting to see evidence that the

Sixershadbegun to collect copiesof the JadeKeywhile their forcesheld theopposition at bay. As I feared, the next score to increase was the one besideSorrento’s IOI employee number. It jumped 17,000 points, moving him intofourthplace.Now that theSixersknewexactlywhere andhow toobtain the JadeKey, I

expectedtoseetheirotheravatars’scoresbegintojumpasSorrento’sunderlingsfollowedhislead.Buttomysurprise,thenextavatartosnagtheJadeKeywasnoneotherthanShoto.HediditlessthantwentyminutesafterSorrento.Somehow, Shoto had managed to evade the hordes of Sixers currently

swarming all over the planet, enter an instance of thewhite house, collect allnineteenoftherequiredtreasures,andobtainhiscopyofthekey.IcontinuedtowatchtheScoreboard,expectingtoseehisbrotherDaito’sscore

increaseaswell.Butthatneverhappened.Instead,afewminutesafterShotoobtainedhiscopyofthekey,Daito’sname

disappeared from the Scoreboard entirely. There was only one possibleexplanation:Daitohadjustbeenkilled.

Over the next twelve hours, chaos continued to reign on Frobozz as everygunterintheOASISscrambledtoreachtheplanetandjointhefray.TheSixershaddispersedtheirgrandarmyacrosstheglobeinaboldattempt

toblockadeall512copiesoftheZorkplayingfield.Buttheirforces,asvastandwell-equippedastheywere,werespreadfartoothinthistime.OnlysevenmoreoftheiravatarsmanagedtoobtaintheJadeKeythatday.Andwhenthegunterclansbegan their coordinated attackon theSixers’ forces, the “boobs inblue”begantosufferheavycasualtiesandwereforcedtopullback.Withinamatterofhours, theSixerhighcommanddecided todeployanew

strategy.Ithadquicklybecomeobviousthat theywouldn’tbeable tomaintainoverfivehundreddifferentblockadesorfendoffthemassiveinfluxofgunters.So theyregroupedallof their forcesaround tenadjacent instancesof theZorkplayingfieldneartheplanet’ssouthpole.Theyinstalledpowerfulforceshieldsovereachofthemandstationedarmoredbattalionsoutsidetheshieldwalls.Thisscaled-downstrategyworked,andtheSixers’forcesprovedsufficientto

holdthosetenlocationsandpreventanyotherguntersfromgettinginside(andtherewasn’tmuchreasonforothergunterstotry,sinceoverfivehundredotherinstancesofZorknowstoodwideopenandunprotected).Now that theSixerscould operate undisturbed, they basically formed ten lines of avatars outsideeachwhite house and began to run them through the process of obtaining theJadeKey,oneafteranother.Everyonecouldplainlyseewhat theyweredoing,becausethedigitsbesideeachIOIemployeenumberontheScoreboardbegantoincreaseby15,000points.Atthesametime,hundredsofgunterscoreswereincreasingaswell.Nowthat

the location of the JadeKeywas public knowledge, deciphering theQuatrainandfiguringouthowtoobtainthekeywasrelativelyeasy.ItwasthereforthetakingtoanyonewhohadalreadyclearedtheFirstGate.AstheBattleofFrobozzdrewtoaclose,therankingsontheScoreboardstood

likethis:

HIGHSCORES:1.Art3mis 129,000 2.Parzival 128,000 3.Aech 127,000 4.IOI-655321 122,000 5.Shoto 122,000 6.IOI-643187 120,000 7.IOI-621671 120,000 8.IOI-678324 120,000 9.IOI-637330 120,000 10.IOI-699423 120,000 EventhoughShotohadmatchedSorrento’sscoreof122,000points,Sorrento

had achieved that score first, whichmust be the reason he’d remained in thehigherslot.TherelativelysmallpointbonusesArt3mis,Aech,Shoto,andIhadreceivedforbeingthefirsttoreachtheCopperandJadekeyswerewhatkeptournamesinthehallowed“HighFive”slots.Sorrentohadnowearnedoneofthesebonuses too. Seeing his IOI employee number above Shoto’s namemademecringe.Scrollingdown,IsawthattheScoreboardwasnowoverfivethousandnames

long, with more being added every hour as new avatars finally managed todefeatAcererakatJoustandcollecttheirowninstanceoftheCopperKey.NooneonthemessageboardsseemedtoknowwhathadhappenedtoDaito,

but thecommonassumptionwasthathe’dbeenkilledbytheSixersduringthefirst fewminutes of theBattle of Frobozz.Rumors about exactly howhe haddiedwererunningrampant,butnoonehadactuallybeenwitnesstohisdemise.ExceptformaybeShoto,andhe’dvanished.Isenthimafewchatrequests,butgotnoreply.Likeme,IassumedhewasfocusingallofhisenergyonfindingtheSecondGatebeforetheSixersdid.

Isatinmystronghold,staringattheJadeKeyandrecitingthewordsetchedintoitsspine,overandover,likeamaddeningmantra:

ContinueyourquestbytakingthetestContinueyourquestbytakingthetest

ContinueyourquestbytakingthetestYes,butwhattest?WhattestwasIsupposedtotake?TheKobayashiMaru?

ThePepsiChallenge?Couldthecluehavebeenanymorevague?I reached under my visor and rubbed my eyes in frustration. I decided I

neededtotakeabreakandgetsomesleep.Ipulledupmyavatar’sinventoryandplacedtheJadeKeybackinside.AsIdid,Inoticedthesilverfoilwrapperintheinventoryslotbesideit—thewrapperthathadcoveredtheJadeKeywhenitfirstappearedinmyhand.Iknewthesecrettodecipheringtheriddlemustinvolvethewrapperinsome

way,but I still couldn’t sortouthow. Iwondered if itmightbea reference toWilly Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, but then decided against it. Therehadn’t been any golden ticket inside the wrapper. It must have some otherpurposeormeaning.IstaredatthewrapperandponderedthisuntilIcouldnolongerkeepmyeyes

open.ThenIloggedoutandwenttosleep.Afewhourslater,at6:12a.m.OST,Iwasjoltedawakebythegut-wrenching

sound of my Scoreboard alarm alerting me that one of the top rankings hadchangedagain.Filled with a growing sense of dread, I logged in and pulled up the

Scoreboard,unsureofwhattoexpect.MaybeArt3mishadfinallyclearedGateTwo?OrperhapsAechorShotohadachievedthathonor.Butallof their scores remainedunchanged.Tomyhorror, I saw that itwas

Sorrento’sscorethathadincreased,by200,000points.Andtwogateiconsnowappearedbesideit.Sorrentohadjustbecomethefirstpersontofindandclear theSecondGate.

Asaresult,hisavatarnowstoodinfirstplace,atthetopoftheScoreboard.I sat there frozen, staring at Sorrento’s employee number, silentlyweighing

therepercussionsofwhathadjusthappened.Upon exiting the gate, Sorrento would have been given a clue as to the

locationoftheCrystalKey.Thekeythatwouldopenthethirdandfinalgate.SonowtheSixersweretheonlyoneswhopossessedthatclue.WhichmeanttheywerenowclosertofindingHalliday’sEastereggthananyonehadeverbeen.Isuddenlyfeltill,andIwasalsohavingadifficulttimebreathing.IrealizedI

must be having some sort of panic attack. A total and complete freak-out. Amassivementalmeltdown.Whateveryouwanttocallit.Iwentalittlenuts.ItriedcallingAech,buthedidn’tpickup.Eitherhewasstillpissedoffatme,

orhehadother,morepressingmatterstoattendto.IwasabouttocallShoto,butthen I remembered that his brother’s avatar had just been killed.He probably

wasn’tinaveryreceptivemood.IconsideredflyingtoBenatar to try togetArt3mis to talk tome,but thenI

cametomysenses.She’dhadtheJadeKeyinherpossessionforseveraldays,andshestillhadn’tbeenabletocleartheSecondGate.LearningthattheSixershad done it in less than twenty-four hours had probably driven her into apsychoticrage.Ormaybeacatatonicstupor.Sheprobablydidn’tfeelliketalkingtoanyonerightnow,leastofallme.Itriedcallingheranyway.Asusual,shedidn’tanswer.IwassodesperatetohearafamiliarvoicethatIresortedtotalkingtoMax.In

my current state, even his glib computer-generated voice was somehowcomforting.Ofcourse,itdidn’ttakelongforMaxtorunoutofpreprogrammedreplies;andwhenhestarted to repeathimself the illusion that Iwas talking toanother person was shattered, and I felt even more alone. You know you’vetotally screwedupyour lifewhenyourwholeworld turns to shit and theonlypersonyouhavetotalktoisyoursystemagentsoftware.I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I stayed up watching the newsfeeds and

scanning the guntermessage boards. The Sixer armada remained on Frobozz,andtheiravatarswerestillfarmingcopiesoftheJadeKey.Sorrento had obviously learned from his previous mistake. Now that the

Sixers alone knew the location of the SecondGate, theyweren’t going to bestupidenough to reveal its location to theworldby trying tobarricade itwiththeir armada.But theywere still taking full advantageof the situation.As theday progressed, the Sixers continued to walk additional avatars through theSecondGate.AfterSorrentomadeitthrough,anothertenSixerscleareditduringthe following twenty-four hours. As each Sixer score increased by 200,000points,Art3mis,Aech,Shoto,andIwereallpushedfartherandfartherdowntheScoreboard until we’d been knocked out of the top ten entirely, and theScoreboard’smainpagedisplayednothingbutIOIemployeenumbers.TheSixersnowruledtheroost.Then,whenIwassurethingscouldn’tpossiblygetanyworse,theydid.They

gotmuch,muchworse.Twodaysafterhecleared theSecondGate,Sorrento’sscore jumped another 30,000 points, indicating that he had just acquired theCrystalKey.I sat there in my stronghold, staring at the monitors, watching all of this

unfoldinstunnedhorror.Therewasnodenyingit.Theendofthecontestwasathand.And itwasn’tgoing to end like I’d always thought itwould,with somenoble,worthy gunter finding the egg andwinning the prize. I’d been kiddingmyselfforthepastfiveandahalfyears.Weallhad.Thisstorywasnotgoingtohaveahappyending.Thebadguysweregoingtowin.

Ispentthenexttwenty-fourhoursinafranticfunk,obsessivelycheckingtheScoreboardeveryfiveseconds,expectingtheendtocomeatanymoment.Sorrento,oroneofhismany“Hallidayexperts,”hadobviouslybeenable to

deciphertheriddleandlocatetheSecondGate.ButeventhoughtheproofwasrightthereontheScoreboard,Istillhadahardtimebelievingit.Upuntilnow,theSixershadonlymadeprogressbytrackingArt3mis,Aech,orme.HowhadthosesamecluelessasshatsfoundtheSecondGateontheirown?Maybethey’djustgottenlucky.Orperhapsthey’ddiscoveredsomenewandinnovativewaytocheat. How else could they have solved the riddle so quickly, when Art3mishadn’tbeenabletodoitwithseveraldays’headstart?MybrainfeltlikehammeredPlay-Doh.Icouldn’tmakeanysenseoftheclue

printedontheJadeKey.Iwascompletelyoutofideas.Evenlameones.Ididn’tknowwhattodoorwheretolooknext.As the nightwent on, the Sixers continued to acquire copies of theCrystal

Key.Eachtimeoneoftheirscoresincreaseditwaslikeaknifeinmyheart.ButIcouldn’tmakemyselfstopcheckingtheScoreboard.Iwasutterlytransfixed.Ifeltmyselfinchingtowardcompletehopelessness.Myeffortsoverthepast

fiveyearshadbeen for nothing. I’d foolishlyunderestimatedSorrento and theSixers.AndIwasabouttopaytheultimatepriceformyhubris.Thosesoullesscorporatelackeyswereclosinginontheeggatthisverymoment.Icouldsenseit,witheveryfiberofmybeing.I’dalreadylostArt3mis,andnowIwasgoingtolosethecontest,too.I’dalreadydecidedwhatIwasgoingtodowhenithappened.First,Iwould

chooseoneof thekids inmyofficial fanclub, someonewithnomoneyandafirst-levelnewbieavatar,andgivehereveryitemIowned.ThenIwouldactivatetheself-destructsequenceonmystrongholdandsitinmycommandcenterwhilethewholeplacewentupinamassivethermonuclearexplosion.MyavatarwoulddieandGAMEOVERwouldappearinthecenterofmydisplay.ThenIwouldripoffmyvisor and leavemyapartment for the first time in sixmonths. Iwouldride the elevator up to the roof.Ormaybe Iwould even take the stairs.Get alittleexercise.Therewas an arboretumon the roof ofmy apartment building. I had never

visitedit,butI’dseenphotosandadmiredtheviewviawebcam.AtransparentPlexiglas barrier had been installed around the ledge to keep people fromjumping,butitwasajoke.AtleastthreedeterminedindividualshadmanagedtoclimboveritsinceI’dmovedin.Iwouldsitupthereandbreathetheunfilteredcityairforawhile,feelingthe

windonmyskin.ThenIwouldscalethebarrierandhurlmyselfovertheside.Thiswasmycurrentplan.

IwastryingtodecidewhattuneIshouldwhistleasIplummetedtomydeathwhenmyphonerang.ItwasShoto.Iwasn’tinthemoodtotalk,soIlethiscallroll to vidmail, thenwatched as Shoto recorded hismessage. Itwas brief.Hesaid he needed to come to my stronghold to give me something. SomethingDaitohadlefttomeinhiswill.When I returned his call to arrange a meeting, I could tell Shoto was an

emotional wreck. His quiet voice was filled with pain, and the depth of hisdespair was apparent on the features of his avatar’s face. He seemed utterlydespondent.InevenworseshapethanIwas.IaskedShotowhyhisbrotherhadbotheredtomakeouta“will”forhisavatar,

insteadofjustleavinghispossessionsinShoto’scare.ThenDaitocouldsimplycreateanewavatarandreclaimtheitemshisbrotherwasholdingforhim.ButShototoldmethathisbrotherwouldnotbecreatinganewavatar.Notnow,orever.WhenIaskedwhy,hepromisedtoexplainwhenhesawmeinperson.

MaxalertedmewhenShotoarrivedanhourorsolater.IgrantedhisshipclearancetoenterFalco’sairspaceandtoldhimtoparkinmyhangar.Shoto’s vessel was a large interplanetary trawler named the Kurosawa,

modeledafterashipcalledtheBebopintheclassicanimeseriesCowboyBebop.DaitoandShotohaduseditastheirmobilebaseofoperationsforaslongasI’dknownthem.Theshipwassobigthatitbarelyfitthroughmyhangardoors.I was standing on the runway to greet Shoto as he emerged from the

Kurosawa.Hewasdressedinblackmourningrobes,andhisfaceborethesameinconsolableexpressionI’dseenwhenwespokeonthephone.“Parzival-san,”hesaid,bowinglow.“Shoto-san.” I returned the bow respectfully, then stretched outmy palm, a

gestureherecognizedfromthetimewe’dspentquestingtogether.Grinning,hereachedoutandslippedmesomeskin.Butthenhisdarkexpressionimmediatelyresurfaced.ThiswasthefirsttimeI’dseenShotosincethequestwe’dsharedonTokusatsu (not counting those“DaishoEnergyDrink”commercialsheandhisbrother appeared in), and his avatar seemed to be a few inches taller than Iremembered.I led him up to one of my stronghold’s rarely used “sitting rooms,” a re-

creationofthelivingroomsetfromFamilyTies.Shotorecognizedthedecorandnoddedhissilentapproval.Then,ignoringthefurniture,heseatedhimselfinthecenterofthefloor.Hesatseiza-style,foldinghislegsunderhisthighs.Ididthesame,positioningmyselfsothatouravatarsfacedeachother.Wesatinsilenceforawhile.WhenShotowasfinallyreadytospeak,hekepthiseyesonthefloor.“TheSixerskilledmybrotherlastnight,”hesaid,almostwhispering.Atfirst,Iwastoostunnedtoreply.“Youmeantheykilledhisavatar?”Iasked,

eventhoughIcouldalreadytellthatwasn’twhathemeant.Shotoshookhishead.“No.Theybrokeintohisapartment,pulledhimoutof

hishapticchair,andthrewhimoffhisbalcony.Helivedontheforty-thirdfloor.”Shotoopenedabrowserwindowintheairbesideus.ItdisplayedaJapanese

newsfeedarticle. I tapped itwithmy index finger, and theMandarax softwaretranslated the text to English. The headline was ANOTHER OTAKU SUICIDE. Thebriefarticlebelowsaidthatayoungman,ToshiroYoshiaki,agetwenty-two,hadjumped to his death from his apartment, located on the forty-third floor of aconvertedhotelinShinjuku,Tokyo,wherehelivedalone.IsawaschoolphotoofToshirobesidethearticle.HewasayoungJapanesemanwithlong,unkempthairandbadskin.Hedidn’tlookanythinglikehisOASISavatar.WhenShotosawthatI’dfinishedreading,heclosedthewindow.Ihesitateda

momentbeforeasking,“Areyousurehedidn’treallycommitsuicide?Becausehisavatarhadbeenkilled?”“No,”Shotosaid.“Daitodidnotcommitseppuku.I’msureofit.TheSixers

broke into his apartment while we were engaged in combat with them onFrobozz.That’showtheywereable todefeathisavatar.Bykillinghim, in therealworld.”“I’msorry,Shoto.”Ididn’tknowwhatelsetosay.Iknewhewastellingthe

truth.“MyrealnameisAkihide,”hesaid.“Iwantyoutoknowmytruename.”Ismiled,thenbowed,brieflypressingmyforeheadtothefloor.“Iappreciate

yourtrustingmewithyourtruename,”Isaid.“MytruenameisWade.”Icouldnolongerseethepointinkeepingsecrets.“Thankyou,Wade,”Shotosaid,returningthebow.“You’rewelcome,Akihide.”Hewassilentforamoment;thenheclearedhisthroatandbegantotalkabout

Daito. The words poured out of him. It was obvious he needed to talk tosomeoneaboutwhathadhappened.Aboutwhathe’dlost.“Daito’s real namewasToshiroYoshiaki. I didn’t even know that until last

night,untilIsawthenewsarticle.”“But…Ithoughtyouwerehisbrother?”I’dalwaysassumedthatDaitoand

Shotolivedtogether.Thattheysharedanapartmentorsomething.“My relationshipwithDaito is difficult to explain.”He stopped to clear his

throat. “We were not brothers. Not in real life. Just in the OASIS. Do youunderstand?We only knew each other online. I never actually met him.” Heslowlyraisedhiseyestomeetmygaze,toseeifIwasjudginghim.I reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Believe me, Shoto. I

understand.AechandArt3misaremytwobestfriends,andI’venevermeteitheroftheminreallifeeither.Infact,youareoneofmyclosestfriendstoo.”Hebowedhishead.“Thankyou.”Icouldtellbyhisvoicethathewascrying

now.“We’regunters,” Isaid, trying to fill theawkwardsilence.“Welivehere, in

theOASIS.Forus,thisistheonlyrealitythathasanymeaning.”Akihidenodded.Afewmomentslaterhecontinuedtotalk.HetoldmehowheandToshirohadmet,sixyearsago,whentheywereboth

enrolled in an OASIS support group for hikikomori, young people who hadwithdrawnfromsocietyandchosentoliveintotalisolation.Hikikomorilockedthemselves in a room, readmanga, and cruised theOASIS all day, relyingontheirfamiliestobringthemfood.TherehadbeenhikikomoriinJapansincebackbefore the turnof thecentury,but theirnumberhadskyrocketedafter thehuntforHalliday’sEastereggbegan.Millionsofyoungmenandwomenalloverthecountry had locked themselves away from the world. They sometimes calledthesechildrenthe“missingmillions.”AkihideandToshirobecamebestfriendsandspentalmosteverydayhanging

out together in the OASIS. When the hunt for Halliday’s Easter egg began,they’dimmediatelydecidedtojoinforcesandsearchforittogether.Theymadeaperfect team,becauseToshirowasaprodigyatvideogames,while themuchyounger Akihide was well versed in American pop culture. Akihide’sgrandmotherhad attended school in theUnitedStates, andbothofhisparentshad been born there, so Akihide had been raised on American movies andtelevision, and he’d grown up learning to speakEnglish and Japanese equallywell.AkihideandToshiro’smutualloveofsamuraimoviesservedastheinspiration

for theiravatars’namesandappearances.ShotoandDaitohadgrownsoclosethat they were now like brothers, so when they created their new gunteridentities,theydecidedthatintheOASIStheywerebrothers,fromthatmomenton.AfterShotoandDaitocleared theFirstGateandbecamefamous, theygave

several interviewswith themedia.Theykept their identities a secret, but theydidrevealthattheywerebothJapanese,whichmadetheminstantcelebritiesinJapan.Theybegan toendorseJapaneseproductsandhadacartoonanda live-actionTVseriesbasedontheirexploits.Attheheightoftheirfame,ShotohadsuggestedtoDaitothatperhapsitwastimeforthemtomeetinperson.Daitohadflown into a rage and stopped speaking to Shoto for several days. After that,Shotohadneversuggesteditagain.Eventually, Shotoworked hisway up to tellingme howDaito’s avatar had

died.ThetwoofthemhadbeenaboardtheKurosawa,cruisingbetweenplanetsinSectorSeven,whentheScoreboardinformedthemthatAechhadobtainedtheJade Key. When that happened, they knew the Sixers would use Fyndoro’sTablet ofFinding to pinpointAech’s exact location and that their shipswouldsoonbeconvergingonit.

Inpreparationforthis,DaitoandShotohadspentthepastfewweeksplantingmicroscopictrackingdevicesonthehullsofeverySixergunshiptheycouldfind.Using these devices, they were able to follow the gunships when they allabruptlychangedcourseandheadedforFrobozz.AssoonasShotoandDaitolearnedthatFrobozzwastheSixers’destination,

they’d easily deciphered the meaning of the Quatrain. And by the time theyreachedFrobozz,justafewminuteslater,they’dalreadyfiguredoutwhattheyneededtodotoobtaintheJadeKey.TheylandedtheKurosawanexttoaninstanceofthewhitehousethatwasstill

deserted.Shotoraninsidetocollectthenineteentreasuresandgetthekey,whileDaitoremainedoutsidetostandguard.Shotoworkedquickly,andheonlyhadtwotreasureslefttocollectwhenDaitoinformedhimbycomlinkthattenSixergunships were closing in on their location. He told his brother to hurry andpromised toholdoff theenemyuntilShotohad theJadeKey.Neitherof themknewifthey’dhaveanotherchancetoreachit.AsShotoscrambledtogetthelasttwotreasuresandplacetheminthetrophy

case,heremotelyactivatedoneoftheKurosawa’sexternalcamerasanduseditto record a short video of Daito’s confrontation with the approaching Sixers.Shotoopenedawindowandplayed this video clip forme.Buthe avertedhiseyesuntilitwasover.Heobviouslyhadnodesiretowatchitagain.Onthevidfeed,IsawDaitostandingaloneinthefieldbesidethewhitehouse.

AsmallfleetofSixergunshipswasdescendingoutofthesky,andtheybegantofiretheirlasercannonsassoonastheywerewithinrange.Ahailstormoffieryred bolts began to rain down all aroundDaito.Behind him, in the distance, Icould see more Sixer gunships setting down, and each one was off-loadingsquadronsofpower-armoredgroundtroops.Daitowassurrounded.The Sixers had obviously spotted the Kurosawa during its descent to the

planet’ssurface,andthey’dmadekillingthetwosamuraiapriority.Daito didn’t hesitate to use the ace up his sleeve. He pulled out the Beta

Capsule, held it aloft in his right hand, and activated it. His avatar instantlychanged intoUltraman, a glowing-eyed red-and-silver alien superhero.As hisavatartransformed,healsogrewtoaheightof156feet.TheSixergroundforcesclosinginonhimfrozeintheirtracks,staringupin

frightened awe as Ultraman Daito snatched two gunships out of the sky andsmashedthemtogether, likeagiantchildplayingwith twotinymetal toys.Hedropped the flaming wreckage to the ground and began to swat other Sixergunshipsoutoftheskylikebothersomeflies.Theshipsthatescapedhisdeadlygraspbankedaroundandsprayedhimwithlaserboltsandmachine-gunfire,butboth deflected harmlessly off his armored alien skin.Daito let out a booming

laugh that echoed across the landscape. Then hemade a crosswith his arms,intersectingatthewrists.Aglowingenergybeamblastedforthfromhishands,vaporizinghalfadozengunshipsunluckyenoughtoflythroughitspath.DaitoturnedandsweptthebeamovertheSixergroundforcesaroundhim,fryingthemliketerrifiedantsunderamagnifyingglass.Daito appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. Somuch so that he paid

little attention to thewarning light embedded in thecenterofhis chest,whichhadnowbegun to flashbright red.Thiswasa signal thathis threeminutesasUltramanhadnearlyelapsedandthathispowerwasalmostdepleted.ThistimelimitwasUltraman’s primaryweakness. IfDaito failed to deactivate theBetaCapsuleandreturntohumanformbeforehisthreeminuteswereup,hisavatarwoulddie.Butitwasobviousthatifhechangedbackintohishumanformrightnow,inthemiddleofthemassiveSixeronslaught,he’dbekilledinstantlytoo.AndShotowouldneverbeabletoreachtheship.I could see theSixer troops aroundDaito screaming into their comlinks for

backup, and additionalSixer gunshipswere still arriving in droves.Daitowasblasting themout of the sky one at a time,with perfectly aimed bursts of hisspeciumray.Andwitheachblasthefired,thewarninglightonhischestpulsedfaster.ThenShotoemerged from thewhitehouseand toldhisbrothervia comlink

that he’d acquired the JadeKey. In that same instant, the Sixer ground forcesspottedShoto,andsensingamucheasiertarget,theybegantoredirecttheirfireathisavatar.Shotomade amaddash for theKurosawa.When he activated theBoots of

Speedhewaswearing,hisavatarbecameabarelyvisibleblurracingacrosstheopenfield.AsShotoran,Daitorepositionedhisgiantformtoprovidehimwithasmuch cover as possible. Still firing energy blasts, hewas able to keep theSixersatbay.ThenDaito’s voice broke in on the comlink.“Shoto!” he shouted.“I think

someoneishere!Someoneisinside—”Hisvoicecutoff.Atthesamemoment,hisavatarfroze,asifhe’dbeenturned

tostone,andalog-outiconappeareddirectlyoverhishead.LoggingoutofyourOASISaccountwhileyouwereengagedincombatwas

thesamethingascommittingsuicide.Duringthelog-outsequence,youravatarfrozeinplaceforsixtyseconds,duringwhichtimeyouweretotallydefenselessandsusceptibletoattack.Thelog-outsequencewasdesignedthiswaytopreventavatars fromusing it as an easyway to escape a fight.Youhad to standyourgroundorretreattoasafelocationbeforeyoucouldlogout.Daito’slog-outsequencehadbeenengagedattheworstpossiblemoment.As

soon as his avatar froze, he began to take heavy laser and gunfire from alldirections. The redwarning light on his chest began to flash faster and fasteruntilitfinallywentsolidred.Whenthathappened,Daito’sgiantformfelloverandcollapsed.Ashefell,hebarelymissedcrushingShotoandtheKurosawa.Ashehit theground,hisavatar’sbodytransformedandshrankback to itsnormalsizeandappearance.Thenitbegantodisappearaltogether,slowlyfadingoutofexistence.WhenDaito’savatarvanishedcompletely,itleftbehindasmallpileofspinning itemson theground—everythinghe’dbeencarrying inhis inventory,includingtheBetaCapsule.Hewasdead.I saw another blur of motion on the vidfeed as Shoto ran back to collect

Daito’s items.Thenhe loopedaroundand ranbackaboard theKurosawa.Theship lifted off and blasted into orbit, taking heavy fire the entire way. I wasreminded of my own desperate escape from Frobozz. Luckily for Shoto, hisbrother had wiped out most of the Sixer gunships in the vicinity, andreinforcementshadyettoarrive.Shotowasabletoreachorbitandescapebymakingthejumptolightspeed.

Butjustbarely.

ThevideoendedandShotoclosedthewindow.“HowdoyouthinktheSixersfoundoutwherehelived?”Iasked.“Idon’tknow,”Shotosaid.“Daitowascareful.Hecoveredhistracks.”“Iftheyfoundhim,theymightbeabletofindyou,too,”Isaid.“Iknow.I’vetakenprecautions.”“Good.”Shoto removed theBeta Capsule from his inventory and held it out tome.

“Daitowouldhavewantedyoutohavethis.”Iheldupahand.“No,Ithinkyoushouldkeepit.Youmightneedit.”Shotoshookhishead.“Ihaveallofhisother items,”hesaid.“Idon’tneed

this.AndIdon’twantit.”Heheldthecapsuleouttome,insistent.I took theartifactandexamined it. Itwasa smallmetalcylinder, silverand

black in color, with a red activation button on its side. Its size and shaperemindedmeofthelightsabersIowned.Butlightsaberswereadimeadozen.Ihadoverfiftyinmycollection.TherewasonlyoneBetaCapsule,anditwasafarmorepowerfulweapon.Iraisedthecapsulewithbothhandsandbowed.“Thankyou,Shoto-san.”“Thankyou,Parzival,”hesaid,returningthebow.“Thankyouforlistening.”

Hestoodupslowly.Everythingabouthisbodylanguageseemedtosignaldefeat.“Youhaven’tgivenupyet,haveyou?”Iasked.

“Of course not.”He straightened his body and gaveme a dark smile. “Butfinding the egg is no longer my goal. Now, I have a new quest. A far moreimportantone.”“Andthatis?”“Revenge.”I nodded. Then I walked over and took down one of the samurai swords

mountedonthewallandpresentedittoShoto.“Please,”Isaid.“Acceptthisgift.Toaidyouinyournewquest.”Shoto took the sword and drew its ornate blade a few inches from the

scabbard.“AMasamune?”heasked,staringatthebladeinwonder.Inodded.“Yes.Andit’saplus-fiveVorpalBlade,too.”Shotobowedagaintoshowhisgratitude.“Arigato.”We rode the elevator back down to my hangar in silence. Just before he

boardedhisship,Shoto turned tome.“Howlongdoyou think itwill take theSixerstocleartheThirdGate?”heasked.“Idon’tknow,”Isaid.“Hopefully,longenoughforustocatchupwiththem.”“It’snotoveruntilthefatladyissinging,right?”Inodded.“It’snotoveruntilit’sover.Andit’snotoveryet.”

Ifigureditoutlaterthatnight,afewhoursafterShotoleftmystronghold.I was sitting in my command center, holding the Jade Key and endlessly

reciting the clue printed on its surface: “ ‘Continue your quest by taking thetest.’”Inmyotherhand,Iheldthesilverfoilwrapper.Myeyesdartedfromthekey

to the wrapper and back to the key again as I tried desperately to make theconnectionbetweenthem.I’dbeendoingthisforhours,anditwasn’tgettingmeanywhere.Isighedandputthekeyaway,thenlaidthewrapperflatonthecontrolpanel

in front of me. I carefully smoothed out all of its folds and wrinkles. Thewrapperwas square in shape, six inches longoneachedge.Silver foilononeside,dullwhitepaperontheother.Ipulledupsomeimage-analysissoftwareandmadeahigh-resolutionscanof

both sides of the wrapper. Then I magnified both images on my display andstudiedeverymicrometer.Icouldn’tfindanymarkingsorwritinganywhere,oneithersideofthewrapper’ssurface.Iwaseatingsomecornchipsatthetime,soIwasusingvoicecommandsto

operatetheimage-analysissoftware.Iinstructedittodemagnifythescanofthewrapperandcentertheimageonmydisplay.AsIdidthis,itremindedmeofasceneinBladeRunner,whereHarrisonFord’scharacter,Deckard,usesasimilarvoice-controlledscannertoanalyzeaphotograph.Iheldupthewrapperandtookanotherlookatit.Asthevirtuallightreflected

offitsfoilsurface,Ithoughtaboutfoldingthewrapperintoapaperairplaneandsailingitacrosstheroom.Thatmademethinkoforigami,whichremindedmeofanothermomentfromBladeRunner.Oneofthefinalscenesinthefilm.Andthatwaswhenithitme.“Theunicorn,”Iwhispered.ThemomentIsaidtheword“unicorn”aloud,thewrapperbegantofoldonits

own, there in thepalmofmyhand.Thesquarepieceof foilbent itself inhalf

diagonally, creating a silver triangle. It continued to bend and fold itself intosmallertrianglesandevensmallerdiamondshapesuntilatlastitformedafour-leggedfigurethatthensproutedatail,ahead,andfinally,ahorn.Thewrapperhadfoldeditselfintoasilverorigamiunicorn.Oneofthemost

iconicimagesfromBladeRunner.IwasalreadyridingtheelevatordowntomyhangarandshoutingatMaxto

preptheVonnegutfortakeoff.Continueyourquestbytakingthetest.NowIknewexactlywhat“test”thatlinereferredto,andwhereIneededtogo

totakeit.Theorigamiunicornhadrevealedeverythingtome.

Blade Runner was referenced in the text of Anorak’s Almanac no less thanfourteentimes.IthadbeenoneofHalliday’stoptenall-timefavoritefilms.Andthe film was based on a novel by Philip K. Dick, one of Halliday’s favoriteauthors.Forthesereasons,I’dseenBladeRunneroverfourdozentimesandhadmemorizedeveryframeofthefilmandeverylineofdialogue.As theVonnegut streaked throughhyperspace, Ipulled theDirector’sCutof

BladeRunnerupinawindowonmydisplay,thenjumpedaheadtoreviewtwoscenesinparticular.The movie, released in 1982, is set in Los Angeles in the year 2019, in a

sprawling, hyper-technological future that had never come to pass. The storyfollowsaguynamedRickDeckard,playedbyHarrisonFord.Deckardworksasa “blade runner,” a special typeof copwhohuntsdownandkills replicants—genetically engineered beings that are almost indistinguishable from realhumans.Infact,replicantslookandactsomuchlikerealhumansthattheonlyway a blade runner can spot one is by using a polygraph-like device called aVoight-Kampffmachinetotestthem.Continueyourquestbytakingthetest.Voight-Kampff machines appear in only two scenes in the movie. Both of

those take place inside the Tyrell Building, an enormous double-pyramidstructurethathousestheTyrellCorporation,thecompanythatmanufacturesthereplicants.Re-creationsoftheTyrellBuildingwereamongthemostcommonstructures

in the OASIS. Copies of it existed on hundreds of different planets, spreadthroughoutalltwenty-sevensectors.Thiswasbecausethecodeforthebuildingwasincludedasafreebuilt-intemplateintheOASISWorldBuilderconstructionsoftware (along with hundreds of other structures borrowed from variousscience-fiction films and television series). So for the past twenty-five years,

wheneversomeoneusedtheWorldBuildersoftwaretocreateanewplanetinsidetheOASIS, theycould just select theTyrellBuilding fromadrop-downmenuand insert a copy of it into their simulation to help fill out the skyline ofwhateverfuturisticcityorlandscapetheywerecoding.Asaresult,someworldshadoveradozencopiesoftheTyrellBuildingscatteredacrosstheirsurfaces.Iwascurrentlyhaulingassatlightspeedtotheclosestsuchworld,acyberpunk-themedplanetinSectorTwenty-twocalledAxrenox.Ifmy suspicionwas correct, every copy of theTyrellBuilding onAxrenox

contained a hidden entrance into theSecondGate, through theVoight-Kampffmachineslocatedinside.Iwasn’tworriedaboutrunningintotheSixers,becausethere was no way they could have barricaded the Second Gate. Not withthousandsofcopiesoftheTyrellBuildingonhundredsofdifferentworlds.OnceIreachedAxrenox,findingacopyoftheTyrellBuildingtookonlyafew

minutes. It was pretty hard to miss. A massive pyramid-shaped structurecovering several square kilometers at its base, it towered above most of thestructuresadjacenttoit.IzeroedinonthefirstinstanceofthebuildingIsawandheadedstraightforit.

Myship’scloakingdevicewasalreadyengaged,andIleftitactivatedwhenIsettheVonnegutdownononeoftheTyrellBuilding’slandingpads.ThenIlockedthe ship and activated all of its security systems, hoping they’d be enough tokeep it from getting stolen until I returned. Magic didn’t function here, so Icouldn’t just shrink the ship and put it inmy pocket, and leaving your vesselparked out in the open on a cyberpunk-themed world like Axrenox was likeasking for it to get ripped off. The Vonnegut would be a target for the firstleather-cladboostergangthatspottedit.IpulledupamapoftheTyrellBuildingtemplate’slayoutandusedittolocate

aroof-accesselevatorashortdistancefromtheplatformwhereI’dlanded.WhenIreachedtheelevator,Ipunchedinthedefaultsecuritycodeonthecodepadandcrossedmy fingers. Igot lucky.Theelevatordoorshissedopen.Whoeverhadcreated this section of the Axrenox cityscape hadn’t bothered to reset thesecurity codes in the template. I took this as a good sign. It meant they’dprobablylefteverythingelseinthetemplateatthedefaultsettingtoo.AsI rode theelevatordown to the440th floor, Ipoweredonmyarmorand

drew my guns. Five security checkpoints stood between the elevator and theroomIneededtoreach.Unlessthetemplatehadbeenaltered,fiftyNPCTyrellsecurityguardreplicantswouldbestandingbetweenmeandmydestination.Theshootingstartedassoonastheelevatordoorsslidopen.Ihadtokillseven

skinjobsbeforeIcouldevenmakeitoutoftheelevatorcarandintothehallway.ThenexttenminutesplayedoutliketheclimaxofaJohnWoomovie.Oneof

theonesstarringChowYunFat,likeHardBoiledorTheKiller.IswitchedbothofmygunstoautofireandhelddownthetriggersasImovedfromoneroomtothe next,mowing down everyNPC inmy path. The guards returned fire, buttheirbulletspingedharmlesslyoffmyarmor.Ineverranoutofammo,becauseeachtimeIfiredaround,anewroundwasteleportedintothebottomoftheclip.Mybulletbillthismonthwasgoingtobehuge.WhenIfinallyreachedmydestination,Ipunchedinanothercodeandlocked

the door behind me. I knew I didn’t have much time. Klaxons were blaringthroughoutthebuilding,andthethousandsofNPCguardsstationedonthefloorsbelowwereprobablyalreadyontheirwayupheretofindme.MyfootstepsechoedasIenteredtheroom.Itwasdesertedexceptforalarge

owlsittingonagoldenperch.ItblinkedatmesilentlyasIcrossedtheenormouscathedral-like room,whichwasaperfect re-creationof theofficeof theTyrellCorporation’s founder, Eldon Tyrell. Every detail from the film had beenduplicated exactly.Polished stone floors.Giantmarblepillars.Theentirewestwallwasamassivefloor-to-ceilingwindowofferingabreathtakingviewofthevastcityscapeoutside.A longconference table stoodbeside thewindow.Sittingon topof itwasa

Voight-Kampff machine. It was about the size of a briefcase, with a row ofunlabeledbuttonsonthefront,nexttothreesmalldatamonitors.WhenIwalkedupandsatdowninfrontofthemachine,itturneditselfon.A

thin robotic arm extended a circular device that looked like a retinal scanner,which locked intoplacedirectly levelwith thepupil ofmy right eye.A smallbellows was built into the side of themachine, and it began to rise and fall,givingtheimpressionthatthedevicewasbreathing.Iglancedaround,wonderingifanNPCofHarrisonFordwouldappear,toask

methesamequestionsheaskedSeanYounginthemovie.I’dmemorizedallofheranswers,justincase.ButIwaitedafewsecondsandnothinghappened.Themachine’sbellowscontinuedtoriseandfall.Inthedistance,thesecurityklaxonscontinuedtowail.ItookouttheJadeKey.TheinstantIdid,apanelslidopeninthesurfaceof

theVoight-Kampffmachine,revealingakeyhole.IquicklyinsertedtheJadeKeyand turned it. Themachine and the key both vanished, and in their place, theSecondGate appeared. Itwas a doorlike portal resting on top of the polishedconference table. Its edges glowedwith the samemilky jade color as the key,andjustliketheFirstGate,itappearedtoleadintoavastfieldofstars.Ileaptuponthetableandjumpedinside.

Ifoundmyselfstandingjustinsidetheentranceofaseedy-lookingbowlingalleywithdisco-eradecor.Thecarpetwasagarishpatternofgreenandbrownswirls,andthemoldedplasticchairswereafadedorangecolor.Thebowlinglaneswereall empty and unlit. The place was deserted. There weren’t even any NPCsbehindthefrontcounterorthesnackbar.Iwasn’tsurewhereIwassupposedtobeuntilIsawMIDDLETOWNLANESprinted inhugeletterson thewallabovethebowlinglanes.At first, the only sound I heard was the low hum of the fluorescent lights

overhead.But then Inoticedaseriesof faintelectronicchirpsemanating fromofftomyleft.Iglancedinthatdirectionandsawadarkenedalcovejustbeyondthe snack bar. Over this cavelike entrance was a sign. Eight bright red neonlettersspelledoutthewordsGAMEROOM.There was a violent rush of wind, and the roar of what sounded like a

hurricane tearing through the bowling alley.My feet began to slide across thecarpet,andIrealizedthatmyavatarwasbeingpulledtowardthegameroom,asifablackholehadopenedupsomewhereinthere.Asthevacuumyankedmethroughthegameroomentrance,Ispottedadozen

videogamesinside,allfromthemid-tolate’80s.CrimeFighters,HeavyBarrel,Vigilante, Smash TV. But I could now see that my avatar was being drawntowardonegameinparticular,agamethatstoodaloneat theverybackof thegameroom.BlackTiger.Capcom,1987.Aswirlingvortexhadopenedinthecenterofthegame’smonitor,anditwas

sucking in bits of trash, paper cups, bowling shoes—everything that wasn’tnaileddown.Includingme.Asmyavatarnearedit,IreflexivelyreachedoutandgrabbedthejoystickofaTimePilotmachine.Myfeetwereinstantly liftedoffthefloorasthevortexcontinuedtopullmyavatarinexorablytowardit.Atthispoint,Iwasactuallygrinninginanticipation.Iwasallpreparedtopat

myselfontheback,becauseI’dmasteredBlackTigerlongago,duringthefirstyearoftheHunt.Intheyearspriortohisdeath,whenHallidayhadbeenlivinginseclusion,the

onlythinghe’dpostedonhiswebsitewasabriefloopinganimation.Itshowedhisavatar,Anorak,sittinginhiscastle’slibrary,mixingpotionsandporingoverdusty spellbooks. This animation had run on a continuous loop for over adecade,untilitwasfinallyreplacedbytheScoreboardonthemorningHallidaydied. In that animation, hanging on the wall behindAnorak, you could see alargepaintingofablackdragon.Guntershadfilledcountlessmessageboardthreadsarguingaboutthemeaning

of the painting, about what the black dragon signified or whether it signifiedanythingatall.ButI’dbeensureofitsmeaningfromthestart.InoneoftheearliestjournalentriesinAnorak’sAlmanac,Hallidaywrotethat

wheneverhisparentswouldstartscreamingateachother,hewouldsneakoutofthe house and ride his bike to the local bowling alley to play Black Tiger,because itwasagamehecouldbeaton justonequarter.AA23:234:“Foronequarter,BlackTigerletsmeescapefrommyrottenexistenceforthreeglorioushours.Prettygooddeal.”BlackTiger had first been released in Japanunder its original titleBurakku

Doragon.BlackDragon.ThegamehadbeenrenamedforitsAmericanrelease.I’d deduced that the black dragon painting on thewall ofAnorak’s study hadbeenasubtlehintthatBurakkuDoragonwouldplayakeyroleintheHunt.SoI’dstudiedthegameuntil,likeHalliday,Icouldreachtheendonjustonecredit.After that, I continued to play it every fewmonths, just to keep from gettingrusty.Now,itlookedasifmyforesightanddiligencewereabouttopayoff.IwasonlyabletoholdontotheTimePilotjoystickforafewseconds.ThenI

lost my grip and my avatar was sucked directly into the Black Tiger game’smonitor.Everything went black for a moment. Then I found myself in surreal

surroundings.Iwasnowstandinginsideanarrowdungeoncorridor.Onmyleftwasahigh

gray cobblestonewallwith amammoth dragon skullmounted on it. Thewallstretchedupandup,vanishingintotheshadowsabove.Icouldn’tmakeoutanyceiling.Thedungeonfloorwascomposedoffloatingcircularplatformsarrangedendtoendinalonglinethatstretchedoutintothedarknessahead.Tomyright,beyond the platforms’ edge, there was nothing—just an endless, empty blackvoid.I turned around, but there was no exit behind me. Just another high

cobblestonewall,stretchingupintotheinfiniteblacknessoverhead.I looked down at my avatar’s body. I now looked exactly like the hero of

Black Tiger—amuscular, half-naked barbarianwarrior dressed in an armoredthong and a horned helmet. My right arm disappeared in a strange metalgauntlet, fromwhichhunga longretractablechainwithaspikedmetalballontheend.Myrighthanddeftlyheldthreethrowingdaggers.WhenIhurledthemoffintheblackvoidatmyright,threemoreidenticaldaggersinstantlyappearedin my hand.When I tried jumping, I discovered that I could leap thirty feetstraightupandlandbackonmyfeetwithcatlikegrace.NowIunderstood.IwasabouttoplayBlackTiger,allright.Butnotthefifty-

year-old, 2-D, side-scrolling platform game that I had mastered. I was nowstanding inside a new, immersive, three-dimensional version of the game thatHallidayhadcreated.Myknowledgeof theoriginalgame’smechanics, levels,andenemieswould

definitely come in handy, but the game play was going to be completelydifferent,anditwouldrequireanentirelydifferentsetofskills.TheFirstGatehadplacedme insideoneofHalliday’s favoritemovies, and

nowtheSecondGatehadputmeinsideoneofhisfavoritevideogames.WhileIwaspondering the implicationof thispattern,amessagebegan to flashonmydisplay:GO!I lookedaround.Anarrowetchedinto thestonewallonmyleftpointedthe

way forward. I stretchedmy arms and legs, crackedmy knuckles, and took adeepbreath.Then,readyingmyweapons,Iranforward,leapingfromplatformtoplatform,toconfrontthefirstofmyadversaries.

Halliday had faithfully re-created every detail of Black Tiger’s eight-leveldungeon.IgotofftoaroughstartandlostalifebeforeIevenclearedthefirstboss.But

thenIbegantoacclimatetoplayingthegameinthreedimensions(andfromafirst-personperspective).Eventually,Ifoundmygroove.I pressed onward, leaping from platform to platform, attacking in midair,

dodging the relentless onslaught of blobs, skeletons, snakes, mummies,minotaurs,andyes,ninjas.EachenemyIvanquisheddroppedapileof“Zennycoins”thatIcouldlaterusetopurchasearmor,weapons,andpotionsfromoneofthe bearded wise men scattered throughout each level. (These “wise men”apparently thought settingupa small shop in themiddleofamonster-infesteddungeonwasafineidea.)Therewere no time-outs, and noway forme to pause the game.Once you

enteredagate,youcouldn’tjuststopandlogout.Thesystemwouldn’tallowit.Evenifyouremovedyourvisor,youwouldremainloggedin.Theonlywayoutofagatewastogothroughit.Ordie.Imanagedtoclearalleightlevelsofthegameinjustunderthreehours.The

closest I came to death was during my battle with the final boss, the BlackDragon,who,ofcourse,lookedexactlylikethebeastdepictedinthepaintinginAnorak’sstudy.I’dusedupallofmyextralives,andmyvitalitybarwasalmostatzero,butImanagedtokeepmovingandstayclearofthedragon’sfierybreathwhile I slowlyknockeddownhis lifemeterwitha steadybarrageof throwingdaggers.WhenI struck the finalkillingblow, thedragoncrumbled intodigital

dustinfrontofme.Iletoutalong,exhaustedsighofrelief.Then,withnotransitionwhatsoever,Ifoundmyselfbackinthebowlingalley

game room, standing in front of theBlackTiger game. In front ofme, on thegame’smonitor,myarmoredbarbarianwasstrikingaheroicpose.Thefollowingtextappearedbelowhim:

YOUHAVERETURNEDPEACEANDPROSPERITYTOOURNATION.

THANKYOU,BLACKTIGER!CONGRATULATIONSONYOURSTRENGTHANDWISDOM!

Thensomethingstrangehappened—somethingthathadneverhappenedwhen

I’dbeatentheoriginalgame.Oneofthe“wisemen”fromthedungeonappearedonthescreen,withaspeechballoonthatsaid,“Thankyou.Iamindebtedtoyou.Pleaseacceptagiantrobotasyourreward.”Alongrowofroboticonsappearedbelowthewiseman,stretchingacrossthe

screenhorizontally.Bymovingthejoystickleftorright,IfoundthatIwasableto scroll through a selection of over a hundred different “giant robots.”Whenone of these robots was highlighted, a detailed list of its stats and weaponryappearedonthescreenbesideit.TherewereseveralrobotsIdidn’trecognize,butmostwerefamiliar.Ispotted

Gigantor,TranzorZ, the IronGiant, Jet Jaguar, the sphinx-headedGiantRobofromJohnnySokkoandHisFlyingRobot, theentireShogunWarriors toyline,andmanyofthemechsfeaturedinboththeMacrossandGundamanimeseries.Elevenoftheseiconsweregrayedoutandhadared“X”overthem,andtheserobotscouldnotbeidentifiedorselected.IknewtheymustbetheonestakenbySorrentoandtheotherSixerswhohadclearedthisgatebeforeme.ItseemedpossiblethatIwasabouttobeawardedareal,workingrecreationof

whicheverrobotIselected,soIstudiedmyoptionscarefully,searchingfor theoneI thoughtwouldbe themostpowerfulandwellarmed.But Istoppedcoldwhen I sawLeopardon, thegiant transforming robotusedbySupaidaman, theincarnationofSpider-ManwhoappearedonJapaneseTVinthelate1970s.I’ddiscovered Supaidaman during the course of my research and had becomesomewhatobsessedwith theshow.SoIdidn’tcare ifLeopardonwas themostpowerfulrobotavailable.Ihadtohavehim,regardless.IhighlightedthaticonandtappedtheFirebutton.Atwelve-inch-tallreplicaof

LeopardonappearedontopoftheBlackTigercabinet.Igrabbeditandplaceditinmyinventory.Therewerenoinstructions,andtheitemdescriptionfieldwas

blank. I made a mental note to examine it later, when I got back to mystronghold.Meanwhile, on theBlackTigermonitor, the end creditshadbegun to scroll

over an imageof thegame’s barbarianhero sittingon a thronewith a slenderprincessathis side. I respectfully readeachof theprogrammers’names.TheywereallJapanese,exceptfortheverylastcredit,whichreadOASISPORTBYJ.D.HALLIDAY.Whenthecreditsended,themonitorwentdarkforamoment.Thenasymbol

slowly appeared in the center of the screen: a glowing red circlewith a five-pointedstarinsideit.Thepointsofthestarextendedjustbeyondtheouteredgeof the circle. A second later, an image of the Crystal Key appeared, spinningslowlyinthecenteroftheglowingredstar.I felt a rush of adrenaline, because I recognized the red star symbol, and I

knewwhereitwasmeanttoleadme.I snapped several screenshots, just to be safe. Amoment later, themonitor

wentdark,andtheBlackTigergamecabinetmeltedandmorphedintoadoor-shapedportalwithglowingjadeedges.Theexit.Iletoutatriumphantcheerandjumpedthroughit.

WhenIemerged fromthegate,myavatarreappearedback insideTyrell’soffice. The Voight-Kampff machine had reappeared in its original location,restingonthetablebesideme.Icheckedthetime.OverthreehourshadpassedsinceI’dfirstenteredthegate.Theroomwasdeserted,savefortheowl,andthesecurityklaxonswerenolongerwailing.TheNPCguardsmusthavebustedinandsearched thisareawhileIwasstill inside thegate,because theyno longerappearedtobelookingforme.Thecoastwasclear.Imademywayback to theelevatorandup to the landingplatformwithout

incident.AndthanksbetoCrom,theVonnegutwasstillparkedrightwhereI’dleftit,itscloakingdevicestillengaged.IranonboardandleftAxrenox,jumpingtolightspeedassoonasIreachedorbit.AstheVonnegutstreakedthroughhyperspace,headedfortheneareststargate,

I pulled up one of the screenshots I’d taken of the red star symbol. Then Iopened my grail diary and accessed the subfolder devoted to the legendaryCanadianrockbandRush.Rush had beenHalliday’s favorite band, from his teens onward.He’d once

revealed in an interview that he’d coded every single one of his videogames(including the OASIS) while listening exclusively to Rush albums. He oftenreferredtoRush’sthreemembers—NeilPeart,AlexLifeson,andGeddyLee—as“theHolyTrinity”or“theGodsoftheNorth.”Inmygrail diary, I had every singleRush song, album, bootleg, andmusic

videoevermade.Ihadhigh-resscansofalltheirlinernotesandalbumartwork.Every frame of Rush concert footage in existence. Every radio and televisioninterview the band had ever done. Unabridged biographies on each bandmember,alongwithcopiesoftheirsideprojectsandsolowork.Ipulleduptheband’s discography and selected the album I was looking for: 2112, Rush’sclassicsci-fi–themedconceptalbum.A high-resolution scan of the album’s cover appeared on my display. The

band’snameandthealbum’stitlewereprintedoverafieldofstars,andbelow

that,appearingas if reflected in thesurfaceofa rippling lake,was thesymbolI’dseenontheBlackTigergame’smonitor:aredfive-pointedstarenclosedinacircle.WhenIplacedthealbumcoversidebysidewiththescreenshotofthegame

screen,thetwosymbolsmatchedexactly.2112’s title track is an epic seven-part song, over twentyminutes in length.

Thesong tells thestoryofananonymous rebel living in theyear2112,a timewhen creativity and self-expression have been outlawed. The red star on thealbum’scoverwasthesymboloftheSolarFederation,theoppressiveinterstellarsocietyinthestory.TheSolarFederationwascontrolledbyagroupof“priests,”who are described in Part II of the song, titled “The Temples of Syrinx.” ItslyricstoldmeexactlywheretheCrystalKeywashidden:

WearethePriestsoftheTemplesofSyrinxOurgreatcomputersfillthehallowedhalls.WearethePriestsoftheTemplesofSyrinxAllthegiftsoflifeareheldwithinourwalls.

TherewasaplanetinSectorTwenty-onenamedSyrinx.ThatwaswhereIwas

headednow.TheOASISatlasdescribedSyrinxas“adesolateworldwithrockyterrainand

noNPCinhabitants.”WhenIaccessedtheplanet’scolophon,IsawthatSyrinx’sauthorwaslistedas“Anonymous.”ButIknewtheplanetmusthavebeencodedby Halliday, because its design matched the world described in 2112’s linernotes.2112 was originally released in 1976, back when most music was sold on

twelve-inchvinylrecords.Therecordscameincardboardsleeveswithartworkandatracklistingprintedonthem.Somealbumsleevesopeneduplikeabookand included more artwork and liner notes inside, along with lyrics andinformation about the band.As I pulled up a scan of 2112’s original fold-outalbumsleeve,Isawthattherewasasecondimageoftheredstarsymbolontheinside. This one depicted a nakedman cowering in front of the star, both hishandsraisedinfear.Ontheoppositesideoftherecordsleeveweretheprintedlyricstoallseven

partsofthe2112suite.Thelyricsforeachsectionwereprecededbyaparagraphofprosethataugmentedthenarrativelaidoutinthelyrics.Thesebriefvignettesweretoldfromthepointofviewof2112’sanonymousprotagonist.ThefollowingtextprecededthelyricstoPartI:

Ilieawake,staringoutatthebleaknessofMegadon.Cityandskybecomeone,merging into a single plane, a vast sea of unbroken grey. The TwinMoons,justtwopaleorbsastheytracetheirwayacrossthesteelysky.

WhenmyshipreachedSyrinx,Isawthetwinmoons,By-TorandSnowDog,

thatorbitedtheplanet.TheirnamesweretakenfromanotherclassicRushsong.Anddownbelow,on theplanet’sbleakgray surface, therewereexactly1,024copiesofMegadon,thedomedcitydescribedinthelinernotes.Thatwastwicethe number of Zork instances there’d been on Frobozz, so I knew the Sixerscouldn’tbarricadethemall.Withmycloakingdeviceengaged, Iselected thenearest instanceof thecity

andlandedtheVonnegut justoutsidethewallofitsdome,watchingmyscopesforotherships.Megadonwasanchoredatoparockyplateau,ontheedgeofanimmensecliff.

Thecityappearedtobeinruins.Itsmassivetransparentdomewasriddledwithcracksandlookedasthoughitmightcollapseatanymoment.Iwasabletoenterthecitybysqueezingthroughoneofthelargestofthesecracks,atthebaseofthedome.The city ofMegadon remindedme of an old 1950s sci-fi paperback cover

paintingdepictingthecrumblingruinsofaonce-greattechnologicallyadvancedcivilization.IntheabsolutecenterofthecityIfoundatoweringobelisk-shapedtemplewithwind-blastedgraywalls.AgiantredstaroftheSolarFederationwasemblazonedabovetheentrance.IwasstandingbeforetheTempleofSyrinx.Itwasn’tcoveredbyaforcefield,orsurroundedbyadetachmentofSixers.

Therewasn’tasoulinsight.Idrewmygunsandwalkedthroughtheentranceofthetemple.Inside,mammoth obelisk-shaped supercomputers stood in long rows, filling

the giant, cathedral-like temple. Iwandered along these rows, listening to thedeephumofthemachines,untilIfinallyreachedthecenterofthetemple.There,Ifoundaraisedstonealtarwiththefive-pointedredstaretchedintoits

surface.AsIsteppeduptothealtar,thehummingofthecomputersceased,andthechambergrewsilent.ItappearedIwassupposedtoplacesomethingonthealtar,anofferingtothe

TempleofSyrinx.Butwhatkindofoffering?The twelve-inch Leopardon robot I’d acquired after completing the Second

Gate didn’t seem to fit. I tried placing it on the altar anyway and nothinghappened.Iplacedtherobotbackinmyinventoryandstoodthereforamoment,thinking.ThenIrememberedsomethingelsefromthe2112linernotes.Ipulled

themup and scanned over them again.Therewasmy answer, in the text thatprecededPartIII—“Discovery”:

Behindmybelovedwaterfall,inthelittleroomthatwashiddenbeneaththecave, I found it. I brushed away the dust of the years, and picked it up,holdingitreverentlyinmyhands.Ihadnoideawhatitmightbe,butitwasbeautiful.Ilearnedtolaymyfingersacrossthewires,andtoturnthekeystomakethemsounddifferently.AsIstruckthewireswithmyotherhand,Iproducedmyfirstharmonioussounds,andsoonmyownmusic!

Ifoundthewaterfallnearthesouthernedgeofthecity,justinsidethecurved

walloftheatmosphericdome.AssoonasIfoundit,Iactivatedmyjetbootsandflewover the foaming river below the falls, then passed through thewaterfallitself.Myhapticsuitdiditsbesttosimulatethesensationoftorrentsoffallingwater strikingmy body, but it feltmore like someone pounding onmy head,shoulders,andbackwithabundleofsticks.OnceI’dpassedthroughthefallstotheotherside,Ifoundtheopeningofacaveandwentinside.Thecavenarrowedintoalongtunnel,whichterminatedinasmall,cavernousroom.I searched the room and discovered that one of the stalagmites protruding

from the floorwas slightlyworn around the tip. I grabbed the stalagmite andpulledittowardme,butitdidn’tbudge.Itriedpushing,anditgave,bendingasifonsomehiddenhinge,likealever.Iheardarumbleofgrindingstonebehindme,andIturnedtoseeatrapdooropeninginthefloor.Aholehadalsoopenedinthe roof of the cave, casting a brilliant shaft of light down through the opentrapdoor,intoatinyhiddenchamberbelow.I took an item out ofmy inventory, awand that could detect hidden traps,

magical or otherwise. I used it tomake sure the areawas clear, then jumpeddownthroughthetrapdoorandlandedonthedustyfloorofthehiddenchamber.Itwasatinycube-shapedroomwithalargerough-hewnstonestandingagainstthe north wall. Embedded in the stone, neck first, was an electric guitar. Irecognizeditsdesignfromthe2112concertfootageI’dwatchedduringthetriphere. It was a 1974 Gibson Les Paul, the exact guitar used by Alex Lifesonduringthe2112tour.IgrinnedattheabsurdArthurianimageoftheguitarinthestone.Likeevery

gunter, I’d seen John Boorman’s film Excalibur many times, so it seemedobviouswhat I shoulddonext. I reachedoutwithmy right hand,grasped theneckoftheguitar,andpulled.Theguitarcamefreeofthestonewithaprolongedmetallicshhingggg!As Iheld theguitarovermyhead, themetallic ringing segued into aguitar

powerchordthatechoedthroughoutthecave.Istareddownattheguitar,abouttoactivatemyjetbootsagain,toflybackupthroughthetrapdoorandoutofthecave.ButthenanideaoccurredtomeandIfroze.JamesHallidayhadtakenguitarlessonsforafewyearsinhighschool.That

waswhathadfirst inspiredmetolearntoplay.I’dneverheldanactualguitar,butonavirtualaxe,Icouldtotallyshred.Isearchedmyinventoryandfoundaguitarpick.ThenIopenedmygraildiary

andpulledup the sheetmusic for2112, alongwith theguitar tablature for thesong“Discovery,”whichdescribesthehero’sdiscoveryoftheguitarinaroomhiddenbehindawaterfall.AsIbegantoplaythesong, thesoundof theguitarblastedoffthechamberwallsandbackoutthroughthecave,despitetheabsenceofanyelectricityoramplifiers.WhenI finishedplaying thefirstmeasureof“Discovery,”amessagebriefly

appeared,carvedintothestonefromwhichI’dpulledtheguitar.

ThefirstwasringedinredmetalThesecond,ingreenstoneThethirdisclearestcrystal

andcannotbeunlockedaloneInseconds, thewordsbegantovanish, fadingfromthestonealongwith the

strainsofthelastnoteI’dplayedontheguitar.Iquicklysnappedascreenshotoftheriddle,alreadytryingtosortoutitsmeaning.ItwasabouttheThirdGate,ofcourse.Andhowitcouldnot“beunlockedalone.”Had the Sixers played the song and discovered this message? I seriously

doubted it.Theywouldhavepulled theguitar fromthestoneand immediatelyreturnedittothetemple.Ifso,theyprobablydidn’tknowtherewassomesortoftricktounlockingthe

ThirdGate.Andthatwouldexplainwhytheystillhadn’treachedtheegg.

Ireturnedtothetempleandplacedtheguitaronthealtar.AsIdid,thetoweringcomputersaroundmebegantoemitacacophonyofsound,likeagrandorchestratuning up. The noise built to a deafening crescendo before ceasing abruptly.Thentherewasaflashoflightonthealtar,andtheguitartransformedintotheCrystalKey.WhenIreachedoutandpickedupthekey,achimesounded,andmyscoreon

the Scoreboard increased by 25,000 points. When added to the 200,000 I’dreceivedforclearingtheSecondGate,thatbroughtmytotalscoreupto353,000

points,onethousandpointsmorethanSorrento.Iwasbackinfirstplace.ButIknewthiswasnotimetocelebrate.IquicklyexaminedtheCrystalKey,

tiltingituptostudyitsglittering,facetedsurface.Ididn’tseeanywordsetchedthere,butIdidfindasmallmonogrametchedinthecenterofthekey’scrystalhandle,asinglecalligraphicletter“A”thatIrecognizedimmediately.That same letter “A” appeared in the Character Symbol box on James

Halliday’sfirstDungeons&Dragonscharactersheet.Theverysamemonogramalso appeared on the dark robes of his famousOASIS avatar,Anorak.And, Iknew,thatsameemblematicletteradornedthefrontgatesofCastleAnorak,hisavatar’simpregnablestronghold.InthefirstfewyearsoftheHunt,guntershadswarmedlikehungryinsectsto

anyOASISlocationthatseemedlikeapossiblehidingplaceforthethreekeys,specificallyplanetsoriginallycodedbyHallidayhimself.ChiefamongthesewastheplanetChthonia,apainstakingre-creationofthefantasyworldHallidayhadcreatedforhishigh-schoolDungeons&Dragonscampaign,andalsothesettingofmanyofhisearlyvideogames.Chthoniahadbecomethegunters’Mecca.Likeeveryone else, I’d felt obligated to make a pilgrimage there, to visit CastleAnorak. But the castle was impregnable and always had been. No avatar butAnorakhimselfhadeverbeenabletopassthroughitsentrance.But now I knew theremust be a way to enter Castle Anorak. Because the

ThirdGatewashiddensomewhereinside.

WhenIgotbacktomyship,IblastedoffandsetacourseforChthoniainSectorTen. Then I began to scan the newsfeeds, intending to check out the mediafrenzymyreturntofirstplacewasgenerating.Butmyscorewasn’tthetopstory.No, thebignews that afternoonwas that thehidingplaceofHalliday’sEasteregghad,atlonglast,finallybeenrevealedtotheworld.Itwas,thenewsanchorssaid, located somewhere on the planet Chthonia, inside Castle Anorak. TheyknewthisbecausetheentireSixerarmywasnowencampedaroundthecastle.They’darrivedearlierthatday,shortlyafterI’dclearedtheSecondGate.Iknewthetimingcouldn’tbeacoincidence.Myprogressmusthaveprompted

the Sixers to end their covert attempts to clear the Third Gate and make itslocationpublicbybarricadingitbeforeIoranyoneelsecouldreachit.WhenIarrivedatChthoniaafewminuteslater,Ididacloakedflybyof the

castle, just togauge the layof the landformyself. Itwasevenworse thanI’dimagined.TheSixershad installed some typeofmagical shieldoverCastleAnorak, a

semitransparentdomethatcompletelycoveredthecastleandtheareaaroundit.

EncampedinsidetheshieldwallwastheentireSixerarmy.Avastcollectionoftroops,tanks,weapons,andvehiclessurroundedthecastleonallsides.Severalgunterclanswerealreadyon the scene, and theyweremaking their

firstattemptstobringdowntheshieldbylaunchinghigh-yieldnukesatit.Eachdetonationwasfollowedbyabriefatomiclightshow,andthentheblastwoulddissipateharmlesslyagainsttheshield.Theattacksontheshieldcontinuedforthenextfewhoursasthenewsspread

andmoreandmoreguntersarrivedonChthonia.Theclanslaunchedeverytypeofweapontheycouldthinkofat theshield,butnothingaffectedit.Notnukes,notfireballs,andnotmagicmissiles.Eventually,ateamofgunterstriedtodigatunnelunderthedomewall,andthatwaswhenitwasdiscoveredthattheshieldwasactuallyacompletespheresurroundingthecastle,above-andbelowground.Laterthatnight,severalhigh-levelgunterwizardsfinishedcastingaseriesof

divination spells on the castle and announced on themessage boards that theshieldaroundthecastlewasgeneratedbyapowerfulartifactcalled theOrbofOsuvox,whichcouldonlybeoperatedbyawizardwhowasninety-ninthlevel.According to the artifact’s item description, it could create a spherical shieldaround itself,with a circumference of up to half a kilometer. This shieldwasimpenetrable and indestructible and could vaporize just about anything thattouchedit.Itcouldalsobekeptupindefinitely,aslongasthewizardoperatingtheorbremainedimmobileandkeptbothhandsontheartifact.In the days that followed, gunters tried everything they could think of to

penetrate the shield. Magic. Technology. Teleportation. Counterspells. Otherartifacts.Nothingworked.Therewasnowaytogetinside.An air of hopelessness quickly swept through the gunter community. Solos

andclansmenalikewerereadytothrowinthetowel.TheSixershadtheCrystalKeyandexclusiveaccesstotheThirdGate.EveryoneagreedthatTheEndwasnear,thattheHuntwas“alloverbutthecrying.”During all of these developments, I somehow managed to keep my cool.

Therewas a chance theSixershadn’t even figuredout how toopen theThirdGate yet. Of course, they had plenty of time now. They could be slow andmethodical.Soonerorlater,theywouldstumbleonthesolution.But I refused to give up. Until an avatar reached Halliday’s Easter egg,

anythingwasstillpossible.Like any classic videogame, the Hunt had simply reached a new, more

difficultlevel.Anewleveloftenrequiredanentirelynewstrategy.Ibegantoformulateaplan.Abold,outrageousplanthatwouldrequireepic

amountsoflucktopulloff.Isetthisplaninmotionbye-mailingArt3mis,Aech,andShoto.Mymessage told themexactlywhere to find theSecondGate and

howtoobtain theCrystalKey.OnceIwassureall threeof themhadreceivedmymessage,Iinitiatedthenextphaseofmyplan.Thiswasthepartthatterrifiedme,becauseIknewtherewasagoodchanceitwasgoingtoendupgettingmekilled.Butatthispoint,Inolongercared.IwasgoingtoreachtheThirdGate,ordietrying.

Goingoutsideishighlyoverrated.—Anorak’sAlmanac,Chapter17,Verse32

WhentheIOIcorporatepolicecametoarrestme,IwasrightinthemiddleofthemovieExplorers(1985,directedbyJoeDante).It’saboutthreekidswhobuildaspaceshipintheirbackyardandthenflyofftomeetaliens.Easilyoneofthegreatestkidflicksevermade.I’dgottenintothehabitofwatchingitatleastonceamonth.Itkeptmecentered.Ihadathumbnailofmyapartmentbuilding’sexternalsecuritycamerafeedat

theedgeofmydisplay,soIsawtheIOIIndenturedServantRetrievalTransportpullupout front, sirenwailingand lights flashing.Then four jackbooted, riot-helmeteddropcopsjumpedoutandranintothebuilding,followedbyaguyinasuit. I continued towatch them on the lobby camera as theywaved their IOIbadges,blewpastthesecuritystation,andfiledontotheelevator.Nowtheywereontheirwayuptomyfloor.“Max,”Imuttered,notingthefearinmyownvoice.“Executesecuritymacro

numberone:Crom,stronginhismountain.”Thisvoicecommandinstructedmycomputertoexecutealongseriesofpreprogrammedactions,bothonlineandintherealworld.“Youg-g-got it,Chief!”Maxrepliedcheerfully,andasplitsecondlater,my

apartment’ssecuritysystemswitchedintolockdownmode.Myreinforcedplate-titaniumWarDoor swung down from the ceiling, slamming and locking intoplaceovermyapartment’sbuilt-insecuritydoor.On the security camera mounted in the hallway outside my apartment, I

watched the fourdropcopsgetoff theelevatorandsprintdown thehallway tomydoor.The twoguys in frontwere carrying plasmawelders.The other twoheld industrial-strengthVoltJolt stun guns. The suit, who brought up the rear,wascarryingadigitalclipboard.Iwasn’tsurprisedtoseethem.Iknewwhytheywerehere.Theywerehereto

cut open my apartment and pull me out of it, like a chunk of Spam beingremovedfromacan.Whentheyreachedmydoor,myscannergavethemtheonce-over,andtheir

IDdataflashedonmydisplay,informingmethatallfiveofthesemenwereIOIcredit officerswith a valid indenturement arrestwarrant for oneBryceLynch,theoccupantofthisapartment.So,inkeepingwithlocal,state,andfederallaw,my apartment building’s security system immediately opened both of mysecuritydoors togrant thementrance.But theWarDoor thathad just slammedintoplacekeptthemoutside.Ofcourse,thedropcopsexpectedmetohaveredundantsecurity,whichiswhy

they’dbroughtplasmawelders.TheIOIdroneinthesuitsqueezedpastthedropcopsandgingerlypressedhis

thumb to my door intercom. His name and corporate title appeared on mydisplay:MichaelWilson,IOICreditandCollectionsDivision,Employee#IOI-481231.Wilsonlookedupintothelensofmyhallwaycameraandsmiledpleasantly.

“Mr.Lynch,”hesaid.“MynameisMichaelWilson,andI’mwiththeCreditandCollections division of Innovative Online Industries.” He consulted hisclipboard.“I’mherebecauseyouhavefailedtomakethelastthreepaymentsonyour IOI Visa card, which has an outstanding balance in excess of twentythousanddollars.Ourrecordsalsoshowthatyouarecurrentlyunemployedandhave therefore been classified as impecunious.Under current federal law, youarenoweligibleformandatoryindenturement.Youwillremainindentureduntilyou have paid your debt to our company in full, along with all applicableinterest, processing and late fees, and any other charges or penalties that youincurhenceforth.”Wilsonmotionedtowardthedropcops.“Thesegentlemenarehere toassistme inapprehendingyouandescortingyou toyournewplaceofemployment.We request that youopenyour door andgrant us access to yourresidence. Please be aware that we are authorized to seize any personalbelongings you have inside. The sale value of these itemswill, of course, bedeductedfromyouroutstandingcreditbalance.”AsfarasIcouldtell,Wilsonrecitedallofthiswithouttakingasinglebreath,

speaking in the flatmonotone of someonewho repeats the same sentences alldaylong.Afterabriefpause,Irepliedthroughtheintercom.“Surething,guys.Justgive

meaminutetogetmypantson.ThenI’llberightout.”Wilsonfrowned.“Mr.Lynch,ifyoudonotgrantusaccesstoyourresidence

withintenseconds,weareauthorizedtoenterbyforce.Thecostofanydamageresultingfromourforcedentry,includingallpropertydamageandrepairlabor,willbeaddedtoyouroutstandingbalance.Thankyou.”Wilsonsteppedawayfromtheintercomandnoddedtotheothers.Oneofthe

dropcops immediatelypowereduphiswelder,andwhen the tipbegan toglow

moltenorange,hebegancutting throughmyWar-Door’s titaniumplating.Theother welder moved a few feet farther down and began to cut a hole rightthrough the wall of my apartment. These guys had access to the building’ssecurityspecs, so theyknewthewallsofeachapartmentwere linedwithsteelplatingandalayerofconcrete,whichtheycouldcutthroughmuchmorequicklythanthetitaniumWarDoor.Ofcourse,I’dtakentheprecautionofreinforcingmyapartment’swalls,floor,

andceiling,withatitaniumalloySageCage,whichI’dassembledpiecebypiece.Once theycut throughmywall, theywouldhave tocut through thecage, too.But thiswould buymeonly five or six extraminutes, at themost.Then theywouldbeinside.I’dheardthatdropcopshadanicknameforthisprocedure—cuttinganindent

outofa fortifiedresidenceso theycouldarresthim.Theycalled itdoingaC-section.Idry-swallowedtwooftheantianxietypillsI’dorderedinpreparationforthis

day. I’d already taken two earlier that morning, but they didn’t seem to beworking.Inside the OASIS, I closed all the windows on my display and set my

account’s security level tomaximum.Then Ipulledup theScoreboard, just tocheckitonelasttimeandreassuremyselfthatnothinghadchangedandthattheSixers still hadn’twon. The top ten rankings had been static for several daysnow.

HIGHSCORES:1.Art3mis 354,000 2.Parzival 353,000 3.IOI-655321 352,000 4.Aech 352,000 5.IOI-643187 349,000 6.IOI-621671 348,000 7.IOI-678324 347,000 8.Shoto 347,000 9.IOI-637330 346,000 10.IOI-699423 346,000 Art3mis,Aech,andShotohadall cleared theSecondGateandobtained the

Crystal Key within forty-eight hours of receiving my e-mail. When Art3misreceived the25,000points for reaching theCrystalKey, ithadputherback infirstplace,duetothepointbonusesshe’dalreadyreceivedforfindingtheJadeKeyfirst,andtheCopperKeysecond.Art3mis,Aech, andShotohad all tried to contactme since receivingmye-

mail,butIhadn’tansweredanyoftheirphonecalls,e-mails,orchatrequests.IsawnoreasontotellthemwhatIintendedtodo.Theycouldn’tdoanythingtohelpmeandwouldprobablyjusttrytotalkmeoutofit.Therewasnoturningbacknow,anyway.I closed the Scoreboard and took a long look around my stronghold,

wonderingifitwasforthelasttime.ThenItookseveralquickdeepbreaths,likea deep-sea diver preparing to submerge, and tapped the logout icon on mydisplay.TheOASISvanished,andmyavatarreappearedinsidemyvirtualoffice,a standalonesimulationstoredonmyconsole’sharddrive. Iopenedaconsolewindowandkeyedinthecommandwordtoactivatemycomputer’sself-destructsequence:SHITSTORM.A progressmeter appeared onmy display, showing thatmy hard drivewas

nowbeingzeroedoutandwipedclean.“Good-bye,Max,”Iwhispered.“Adios,Wade,”Maxsaid,justafewsecondsbeforehewasdeleted.Sittinginmyhapticchair,Icouldalreadyfeeltheheatcomingfromtheother

sideof theroom.WhenIpulledoffmyvisor,Isawsmokepouringin throughtheholesbeingcutinthedoorandthewall.Itwasstartingtogettoothickformyapartment’sairpurifierstohandle.Ibegantocough.The dropcop working on my door finished cutting his hole. The smoking

circleofmetalfelltothefloorwithaheavymetallicboomthatmademejumpinmychair.As the welder stepped back, another dropcop stepped forward and used a

smallcanistertospraysomesortoffreezingfoamaroundtheedgeofthehole,cooling off the metal so they wouldn’t burn themselves when they crawledinside.Whichwaswhattheywereabouttodo.“Clear!”oneofthemshoutedfromoutinthehallway.“Novisibleweapons!”One of the stun-gun wielding dropcops climbed through the hole first.

Suddenly,hewasstandingrightinfrontofme,hisweaponleveledatmyface.“Don’tmove!”heshouted.“Oryougetthejuice,understand?”Inoddedthatyes,Iunderstood.Itoccurredtomethenthat thiscopwasthe

firstvisitorI’deverhadinmyapartmentinallthetimeI’dlivedthere.Theseconddropcoptocrawlinsidewasn’tnearlyaspolite.Withoutaword,

he walked over and jammed a ball gag in my mouth. This was standard

procedure,because theydidn’twantme to issueanymorevoicecommands tomy computer.They needn’t have bothered.Themoment the first dropcop hadenteredmyapartment,anincendiarydevicehaddetonatedinsidemycomputer.Itwasalreadymeltingtoslag.When thedropcop finishedstrappingon theballgag,hegrabbedmeby the

exoskeletonofmyhapticsuit,yankedmeoutofmyhapticchairlikearagdoll,andthrewmeonthefloor.TheotherdropcophitthekillswitchthatopenedmyWarDoor,andthelasttwodropcopsrushedin,followedbyWilsonthesuit.I curled into a ball on the floor and closed my eyes. I started to shake

involuntarily. I tried to preparemyself for what I knewwas about to happennext.Theyweregoingtotakemeoutside.“Mr. Lynch,” Wilson said, smiling. “I hereby place you under corporate

arrest.”Heturnedtothedropcops.“Telltherepoteamtocomeonupandclearthisplaceout.”Heglancedaroundtheroomandnoticedthethinlineofsmokenowpouringoutofmycomputer.He lookedatmeandshookhishead. “Thatwasstupid.Wecouldhavesoldthatcomputertohelppaydownyourdebt.”I couldn’t reply around the ball gag, so I just shrugged and gave him the

finger.Theytoreoffmyhapticsuitandleftitfortherepoteam.Iwastotallynaked

underneath. They gave me a disposable slate-gray jumpsuit to put on, withmatchingplasticshoes.Thesuitfeltlikesandpaper,anditbegantomakemeitchassoonasIputiton.They’dcuffedmyhands,soitwasn’teasytoscratch.Theydraggedmeoutintothehall.Theharshfluorescentssuckedthecolorout

ofeverythingandmadeitlooklikeanoldblack-and-whitefilm.Aswerodetheelevator down to the lobby, I hummed along with the Muzak as loudly as Icould,toshowthemIwasn’tafraid.Whenoneofthedropcopswavedhisstungunatme,Istopped.They put a hooded winter coat on me in the lobby. They didn’t want me

catchingpneumonianowthatIwascompanyproperty.Ahumanresource.Thentheyledmeoutside,andsunlighthitmyfaceforthefirsttimeinoverhalfayear.Itwas snowing, and everythingwas covered in a thin layer of gray ice and

slush. I didn’t knowwhat the temperaturewas, but I couldn’t remember everfeelingsocold.Thewindcutrighttomybones.Theyherdedmeovertotheirtransporttruck.Twonewindentsalreadysatin

theback,strappedintoplasticseats,bothwearingvisors.Peoplethey’darrestedearlier thatmorning. The dropcopswere like garbage collectors,making theirdailyrounds.Theindentonmyrightwasatall, thinguy,probablyafewyearsolder than

me.He looked like hemight be suffering frommalnutrition.The other indentwasmorbidlyobese,andIcouldn’tbesureoftheperson’sgender.Idecidedtothinkofhimasmale.Hisfacewasobscuredbyamopofdirtyblondhair,andsomething that looked like a gas mask covered his nose and mouth. A thickblacktuberanfromthemaskdowntoanozzleonthefloor.Iwasn’tsureofitspurposeuntilhelurchedforward,drawinghisrestraintstight,andvomitedintothe mask. I heard a vacuum activate, sucking the indent’s regurgitated Oreosdownthetubeandintothefloor.Iwonderediftheystoreditinanexternaltankor just dumped it on the street. Probably a tank. IOIwouldprobablyhavehisvomitanalyzedandputtheresultsinhisfile.“Youfeelsick?”oneofthedropcopsaskedasheremovedmyballgag.“Tell

menowandI’llputamaskonyou.”“Ifeelgreat,”Isaid,notveryconvincingly.“OK.ButifIhavetocleanupyourpuke,I’llmakesureyouregretit.”Theyshovedmeinsideandstrappedmedowndirectlyacrossfromtheskinny

guy.Twoof thedropcopsclimbed into thebackwithus, stowing theirplasmaweldersinalocker.Theothertwoslammedthereardoorsandclimbedintothecabupfront.Aswepulled away frommy apartment complex, I cranedmyneck to look

through the transport’s tinted rearwindows,upat thebuildingwhere I’d livedfor the past year. Iwas able to spotmywindowupon the forty-second floor,becauseofitsspray-paintedblackglass.Therepoteamwasprobablyalreadyupthere by now. All of my gear was being disassembled, inventoried, tagged,boxed,andpreparedforauction.Oncetheyfinishedemptyingoutmyapartment,custodialbotswouldscouranddisinfectit.Arepaircrewwouldpatchtheouterwallandreplacethedoor.IOIwouldbebilled,andthecostoftherepairswouldbeaddedtomyoutstandingdebttothecompany.Bymidafternoon,theluckygunterwhowasnextontheapartmentbuilding’s

waitinglistwouldgetamessageinforminghimthataunithadopenedup,andby this evening, the new tenantwould probably already bemoved in. By thetimethesunwentdown,allevidencethatI’deverlivedtherewouldbetotallyerased.AsthetransportswungoutontoHighStreet,Iheardthetirescrunchthesalt

crystals covering the frozen asphalt. One of the dropcops reached over andslapped a visor on my face. I found myself sitting on a sandy white beach,watching the sunset while waves crashed in front of me. This must be thesimulationtheyusedtokeepindentscalmduringtheridedowntown.Usingmycuffedhand,Ipushedthevisorupontomyforehead.Thedropcops

didn’t seem tocareorpaymeanynoticeatall.So Icranedmyheadagain to

stareoutthewindow.Ihadn’tbeenouthereintherealworldforalongtime,andIwantedtoseehowithadchanged.

A thick film of neglect still covered everything in sight. The streets, thebuildings,thepeople.Eventhesnowseemeddirty.Itdrifteddowningrayflakes,likeashafteravolcaniceruption.Thenumberofhomelesspeople seemed tohave increaseddrastically.Tents

and cardboard shelters lined the streets, and the public parks I saw seemed tohavebeenconvertedintorefugeecamps.Asthetransportrolleddeeperintothecity’sskyscrapercore,Isawpeopleclusteredoneverystreetcornerandineveryvacantlot,huddledaroundburningbarrelsandportablefuel-cellheaters.Otherswaitedinlineatthefreesolarchargingstations,wearingbulky,outdatedvisorsandhapticgloves.Theirhandsmadesmall,ghostlygesturesas they interactedwiththefarmorepleasantrealityoftheOASISviaoneofGSS’sfreewirelessaccesspoints.Finally,wereached101IOIPlaza,intheheartofdowntown.Istaredoutthewindowinsilentapprehensionasthecorporateheadquartersof

InnovativeOnline Industries Inc. came into view: two rectangular skyscrapersflanking a circular one, forming the IOI corporate logo. The IOI skyscraperswerethethreetallestbuildingsinthecity,mightytowersofsteelandmirroredglass joinedbydozensofconnectivewalkwaysandelevator trams.The topofeachtowerdisappearedintothesodium-vapor-drenchedcloudlayerabove.ThebuildingslookedidenticaltotheirheadquartersintheOASISonIOI-1,buthereintherealworldtheyseemedmuchmoreimpressive.Thetransportrolledintoaparkinggarageatthebaseofthecirculartowerand

descended a series of concrete ramps until we arrived in a large open arearesembling a loading dock. A sign over a row of wide bay doors read IOIINDENTUREDEMPLOYEEINDUCTIONCENTER.TheotherindentsandIwereherdedoffthetransport,whereasquadofstun

gun–armed security guards was waiting to take custody of us. Our handcuffswere removed; then another guardbegan to swipe eachof uswith a handheldretinascanner.Iheldmybreathasheheldthescanneruptomyeyes.Asecond

later, the unit beeped and he read off the information on its display. “Lynch,Bryce. Age twenty-two. Full citizenship. No criminal record. Credit DefaultIndenturement.” He nodded to himself and tapped a series of icons on hisclipboard.ThenIwasledintoawarm,brightlylitroomfilledwithhundredsofothernewindents.Theywereallshufflingthroughamazeofguideropes, likewearyovergrownchildrenatsomenightmarishamusementpark.Thereseemedtobeanequalnumberofmenandwomen,butitwashardtotell,becausenearlyeveryone sharedmy pale complexion and total lack of body hair, and we allworethesamegrayjumpsuitsandgrayplasticshoes.WelookedlikeextrasfromTHX1138.Thelinefedintoaseriesofsecuritycheckpoints.Atthefirstcheckpoint,each

indentwasgivenathoroughscanwithabrand-newMeta-detectortomakesuretheyweren’thidinganyelectronicdevicesonorintheirpersons.WhileIwaitedformy turn, I sawseveralpeoplepulledoutof linewhen the scanner foundasubcutaneous minicomputer or a voice-controlled phone installed as a toothreplacement.Theywereledintoanotherroomtohavethedevicesremoved.Adude just ahead ofme in line actually had a top-of-the-lineminiature SinatroOASISconsoleconcealedinsideaprosthetictesticle.Talkaboutballs.OnceI’dclearedafewmorecheckpoints,Iwasusheredintothetestingarea,a

giantroomfilledwithhundredsofsmall,soundproofedcubicles.Iwasseatedinoneofthemandgivenacheapvisorandanevencheaperpairofhapticgloves.Thegeardidn’tgivemeaccesstotheOASIS,butIstillfounditcomfortingtoputiton.Iwas thengivenabatteryof increasinglydifficultaptitude tests intended to

measuremyknowledgeandabilitiesineveryareathatmightconceivablybeofusetomynewemployer.Thesetestswere,ofcourse,cross-referencedwiththefakeeducationalbackgroundandworkhistorythatI’dgiventomybogusBryceLynchidentity.I made sure to ace all of the tests on OASIS software, hardware, and

networking,butIintentionallyfailedthetestsdesignedtogaugemyknowledgeof JamesHallidayand theEasteregg. Idefinitelydidn’twant togetplaced inIOI’sOologyDivision. Therewas a chance Imight run into Sorrento there. Ididn’t thinkhe’drecognizeme—we’dneveractuallymet inperson,andInowbarely resembledmy old school ID photo—but I didn’twant to risk it. Iwasalreadytemptingfatemorethananyoneintheirrightmindeverwould.Hourslater,whenIfinallyfinishedthelastexam,Iwasloggedintoavirtual

chatroomtomeetwithanindenturementcounselor.HernamewasNancy,andinahypnoticmonotone,sheinformedmethat,duetomyexemplarytestscoresandimpressiveemploymentrecord,Ihadbeen“awarded”thepositionofOASIS

TechnicalSupportRepresentativeII.Iwouldbepaid$28,500ayear,minusthecost of my housing, meals, taxes, medical, dental, optical, and recreationservices, all of which would be deducted automatically from my pay. Myremainingincome(iftherewasany)wouldbeappliedtomyoutstandingdebttothe company. Once my debt was paid in full, I would be released fromindenturement. At that time, based on my job performance, it was possible IwouldbeofferedapermanentpositionwithIOI.Thiswasacompletejoke,ofcourse.Indentswereneverabletopayofftheir

debt and earn their release. Once they got finished slapping you with paydeductions, late fees, and interest penalties, you wound up owing themmoreeach month, instead of less. Once you made the mistake of getting yourselfindentured,youwouldprobablyremainindenturedforlife.Alotofpeopledidn’tseemtomindthis,though.Theythoughtofitasjobsecurity.Italsomeanttheyweren’tgoingtostarveorfreezetodeathinthestreet.My “Indenturement Contract” appeared in a window on my display. It

contained a long list of disclaimers and warnings about my rights (or lackthereof) as an indentured employee. Nancy told me to read it, sign it, andproceedtoIndentProcessing.Thensheloggedoutofthechatroom.Iscrolledtothebottomofthecontractwithoutbotheringtoreadit.Itwasoversixhundredpages long. I signed thenameBryceLynch, thenverifiedmysignaturewitharetinalscan.EventhoughIwasusingafakename,Iwonderedifthecontractmightstillbe

legallybinding.Iwasn’tsure,andIdidn’treallycare.Ihadaplan,andthiswaspartofit.Theyledmedownanothercorridor,intotheIndenturementProcessingArea.I

wasplacedonaconveyorbeltthatcarriedmethroughalongseriesofstations.First,theytookmyjumpsuitandshoesandincineratedthem.Thentheyranmethroughakindofhumancarwash—aseriesofmachinesthatsoaped,scrubbed,disinfected,rinsed,dried,anddelousedme.Afterward,Iwasgivenanewgrayjumpsuitandanotherpairofplasticslippers.At the next station, a bank of machines gave me a complete physical,

including a battery of blood tests. (Luckily, the Genetic Privacy Act made itillegal for IOI to samplemyDNA.)Then Iwasgiven a seriesof inoculationswithanarrayofautomatedneedlegunsthatshotmeinbothshouldersandbothasscheekssimultaneously.As I inched forward along the conveyor, flat-screen monitors mounted

overheadshowedthesameten-minutetrainingfilmoverandover,onanendlessloop:“IndenturedServitude:YourFastTrack fromDebt toSuccess!”Thecastwas made up of D-list television stars who cheerfully spouted corporate

propagandawhilerelatingtheminutiaeofIOI’sindenturementpolicy.Afterfiveviewings,Ihadeverylineofthedamnthingmemorized.Bythetenthviewing,Iwasmouthingthewordsalongwiththeactors.“WhatcanIexpectafterIcompletemyinitialprocessingandgetplacedinmy

permanentposition?”askedJohnny,thetrainingfilm’smaincharacter.Youcanexpect tospend therestofyour lifeasacorporateslave,Johnny, I

thought.ButIkeptwatchingas,onceagain, thehelpful IOIHumanResourcesreppleasantlytoldJohnnyallabouttheday-to-daylifeofanindent.Finally, I reachedthe laststation,whereamachinefittedmewithasecurity

anklet—apaddedmetalbandthatlockedaroundmyankle,justabovethejoint.Accordingto the trainingfilm, thisdevicemonitoredmyphysical locationandalsograntedordeniedmeaccesstodifferentareasoftheIOIofficecomplex.IfItriedtoescape,removetheanklet,orcausetroubleofanykind,thedevicewascapable of delivering a paralyzing electrical shock. If necessary, it could alsoadministeraheavy-dutytranquilizerdirectlyintomybloodstream.After theankletwason,anothermachineclampeda smallelectronicdevice

ontomyrightearlobe,piercingitintwolocations.Iwincedinpainandshoutedastreamofprofanity.IknewfromthetrainingfilmthatI’djustbeenfittedwithanOCT.OCTstoodfor“observationandcommunicationtag.”Butmostindentsjustreferredtoitas“eargear.”Itremindedmeofthetagsenvironmentalistsusedtoputonendangeredanimals,totracktheirmovementsinthewild.TheeargearcontainedatinycomlinkthatallowedthemainIOIHumanResourcescomputerto make announcements and issue commands directly into my ear. It alsocontained a tiny forward-looking camera that let IOI supervisors seewhateverwasdirectlyinfrontofme.SurveillancecamerasweremountedineveryroomintheIOIcomplex,but thatapparentlywasn’tenough.Theyalsohadtomountacameratothesideofeveryindent’shead.Afewsecondsaftermyeargearwasattachedandactivated,Ibegantohearthe

placid monotone of the HR mainframe, droning instructions and otherinformation.Thevoice drovemenuts at first, but I gradually got used to it. Ididn’thavemuchchoice.As I stepped off the conveyor, the HR computer directed me to a nearby

cafeteria that looked likesomethingoutofanoldprisonmovie. Iwasgivenalimegreentrayoffood.Atastelesssoyburger,alumpofrunnymashedpotatoes,and someunrecognizable formof cobbler fordessert. I devoured all of it in afewminutes.TheHRcomputercomplimentedmeonmyhealthyappetite.Thenit informed me that I was now permitted to make a five-minute visit to thebathroom.WhenIcameout,Iwasdirectedontoanelevatorwithnobuttonsorfloor indicator.When thedoorsslidopen, Isawthefollowingstenciledon the

wall:INDENTHAB—BLOCK05—TECHSUPREPS.I shuffled off the elevator and down the carpeted hallway. Itwas quiet and

dark. The only illumination came from small path lighting embedded in thefloor. I’d lost trackof the time. It seemed likedayshadpassed since I’dbeenpulledoutofmyapartment.Iwasdeadonmyfeet.“Your first technical support shift begins in sevenhours,” theHRcomputer

droned softly in my ear. “You have until then to sleep. Turn left at theintersectioninfrontofyouandproceedtoyourassignedhab-unit,number42G.”IcontinuedtodoasIwastold.IthoughtIwasalreadygettingprettygoodat

it.TheHabBlock remindedme of amausoleum. Itwas a network of vaulted

hallways, each lined with coffin-shaped sleeping capsules, row after row ofthem,stackedtotheceiling,tenhigh.Eachcolumnofhab-unitswasnumbered,andthedoorofeachcapsulewaslettered,AthroughJ,withunitAatthebottom.Ieventuallyreachedmyunit,nearthetopofcolumnnumberforty-two.AsI

approachedit,thehatchirisedopenwithahiss,andasoftbluelightwinkedoninside.Iascendedthenarrowaccessladdermountedbetweentheadjacentrowsofcapsules, thensteppedontotheshortplatformbeneaththehatchtomyunit.When I climbed inside the capsule, theplatform retracted and thehatch irisedshutatmyfeet.The inside of my hab-unit was an eggshell white injection-molded plastic

coffin,ameterhigh,ameterwide,andtwometerslong.Thefloorofthecapsulewas coveredwith a gel-foammattress pad andpillow.Theyboth smelled likeburnedrubber,soIassumedtheymustbenew.Inadditiontothecameraattachedtothesideofmyhead,therewasacamera

mountedabove thedoorofmyhab-unit.Thecompanydidn’tbotherhiding it.Theywantedtheirindentstoknowtheywerebeingwatched.The unit’s only amenity was the entertainment console—a large, flat

touchscreenbuiltintothewall.Awirelessvisorwassnappedintoaholderbesideit.I tappedthetouchscreen,activatingtheunit.Mynewemployeenumberandpositionappearedatthetopofthedisplay:Lynch,BryceT.—OASISTECHREPII—IOIEmployee#338645.Amenu appeared below, listing the entertainment programming to which I

presentlyhadaccess.Ittookonlyafewsecondstoperusemylimitedoptions.Icould view only one channel: IOI-N—the company’s twenty-four-hour newsnetwork.Itprovidedanonstopstreamofcompany-relatednewsandpropaganda.I alsohadaccess to a libraryof training filmsand simulations,mostofwhichwere geared toward my new position as an OASIS technical supportrepresentative.

When I tried to access one of the other entertainment libraries, VintageMovies, the system informedme that Iwouldn’t be granted access to awiderselectionofentertainmentoptionsuntilIhadreceivedanabove-averageratinginthreeconsecutiveemployeeperformancereviews.ThenthesystemaskedmeifIwanted more information on the Indentured Employee Entertainment RewardProgram.Ididn’t.The only TV show I had access towas a company-produced sitcom called

TommyQueue.Thesynopsissaiditwasa“wackysituationcomedychroniclingthemisadventuresofTommy,anewlyindenturedOASIStechrepstrugglingtoachievehisgoalsoffinancialindependenceandon-the-jobexcellence!”IselectedthefirstepisodeofTommyQueue,thenunsnappedthevisorandput

iton.AsIexpected,theshowwasreallyjustatrainingfilmwithalaughtrack.Ihadabsolutelyno interest in it. I justwanted togo tosleep.But IknewIwasbeingwatched,and thateverymoveImadewasbeingscrutinizedand logged.So I stayed awake as long as I could, ignoring one episode ofTommyQueueafteranother.Despitemybestefforts,my thoughtsdrifted toArt3mis.Regardlessofwhat

I’dbeentellingmyself,IknewshewastherealreasonI’dgonethroughwiththislunatic plan.What the hell was wrong with me? There was a good chance Imight never escape from this place. I felt buried under an avalanche of self-doubt. Had my dual obsessions with the egg and Art3mis finally driven mecompletelyinsane?WhywouldItakesuchanidioticrisktowinoversomeoneI’d never actually met? Someone who appeared to have no interest in evertalkingtomeagain?Wherewassherightnow?Didshemissme?I continued tomentally torturemyself like that until I finally drifted off to

sleep.

lOI’s Technical Support call center occupied three entire floors of theheadquarters’eastern I-shaped tower.Eachof these floorscontainedamazeofnumbered cubicles. Mine was stuck back in a remote corner, far from anywindows.Mycubiclewascompletelyemptyexceptforanadjustableofficechairboltedtothefloor.Severalofthecubiclesaroundmewereunoccupied,awaitingthearrivalofothernewindents.Iwasn’t permitted to have any decorations inmy cubicle, because I hadn’t

earned thatprivilegeyet. If Iobtaineda sufficientnumberof“perkpoints”bygettinghighproductivityandcustomerapprovalratings,Icould“spend”someofthem to purchase the privilege of decorating my cube, perhaps with a pottedplantoraninspirationalposterofakittenhangingfromaclothesline.WhenIarrivedinmycubicle,Igrabbedmycompany-issuedvisorandgloves

fromtherackonthebarecubewallandputthemon.ThenIcollapsedintomychair.Myworkcomputerwasbuiltintothechair’scircularbase,anditactivateditselfautomaticallywhen I satdown.Myemployee IDwasverifiedand IwasautomaticallyloggedintomyworkaccountontheIOIintranet.Iwasn’tallowedtohaveanyoutboundaccesstotheOASIS.AllIcouldreallydowasreadwork-relatede-mails,viewsupportdocumentationandproceduralmanuals,andcheckmycalltimestatistics.Thatwasit.AndeverymoveImadeontheintranetwascloselymonitored,controlled,andlogged.I putmyself in the call queue and beganmy twelve-hour shift. I’d been an

indentforonlyeightdaysnow,butitalreadyfeltlikeI’dbeenimprisonedhereforyears.Thefirstcaller’savatarappearedinfrontofmeinmysupportchatroom.His

name and stats also appeared, floating in the air above him. He had theastoundinglyclevernameof“HotCock007.”Icouldseethatitwasgoingtobeanotherfabulousday.HotCock007wasahulkingbaldbarbarianwith studdedblack leather armor

andlotsofdemontattooscoveringhisarmsandface.Hewasholdingagigantic

bastardswordnearlytwiceaslongashisavatar’sbody.“Goodmorning,Mr.HotCock007,”Idroned.“Thankyouforcallingtechnical

support.I’mtechrepnumber338645.HowmayIhelpyouthisevening?”Thecustomercourtesysoftwarefilteredmyvoice,alteringitstoneandinflectiontoensurethatIalwayssoundedcheerfulandupbeat.“Uh,yeah…”HotCock007began.“Ijustboughtthisbad-asssword,andnow

Ican’tevenuse it! I can’tevenattacknothingwith it.What thehell iswrongwiththispieceofshit?Isitbroke?”“Sir,theonlyproblemisthatyou’reacompletefuckingmoron,”Isaid.Iheardafamiliarwarningbuzzerandamessageflashedonmydisplay:

COURTESYVIOLATION—FLAGS:FUCKING,MORONLASTRESPONSEMUTED—VIOLATIONLOGGED

IOI’s patented customer courtesy software had detected the inappropriate

natureofmyresponseandmutedit,so thecustomerdidn’thearwhatI’dsaid.Thesoftwarealsologgedmy“courtesyviolation”andforwardedittoTrevor,mysection supervisor, so that he could bring it up during my next biweeklyperformancereview.“Sir,didyoupurchasethisswordinanonlineauction?”“Yeah,”HotCock007replied.“Paidouttheassforittoo.”“Just a moment, sir, while I examine the item.” I already knew what his

problemwas,butIneededtomakesurebeforetellinghimorI’dgethitwithafine.Itappedtheswordwithmyindexfinger,selectingit.Asmallwindowopened

anddisplayedtheitem’sproperties.Theanswerwasrightthere,onthefirstline.Thisparticularmagicswordcouldonlybeusedbyanavatarwhowastenthlevelorhigher.Mr.HotCock007wasonly seventh level. Iquicklyexplained this tohim.“What?!Thatain’tfair!Theguywhosoldit tomedidn’tsaynothingabout

that!”“Sir, it’salwaysadvisabletomakesureyouravatarcanactuallyuseanitem

beforeyoupurchaseit.”“Goddammit!”heshouted.“Well,whatamIsupposedtodowithitnow?”“Youcouldshoveitupyourassandpretendyou’reacorndog.”

COURTESYVIOLATION—RESPONSEMUTED—VIOLATIONLOGGED.

I triedagain.“Sir,youmightwant tokeeptheitemstoredinyourinventoryuntilyouravatarhasattainedtenthlevel.Oryoumaywishtoputtheitembackupforauctionyourselfandusetheproceedstopurchaseasimilarweapon.Onewithapowerlevelcommensuratetothatofyouravatar.”“Huh?”HotCock007responded.“Whaddyamean?”“Saveitorsellit.”“Oh.”“CanIhelpyouwithanythingelsetoday,sir?”“No,Idon’tguess—”“Great.Thankyouforcallingtechnicalsupport.Haveanoutstandingday.”I tapped thedisconnect icononmydisplay,andHotCock007vanished.Call

Time: 2:07. As the next customer’s avatar appeared—a red-skinned, large-breasted alien female named Vartaxxx—the customer satisfaction rating thatHotCock007 had just givenme appeared onmy display. It was a 6, out of apossible score of 10.The system thenhelpfully remindedme that I needed tokeepmyaverageabove8.5ifIwantedtogetaraiseaftermynextreview.Doing tech support here was nothing like working from home. Here, I

couldn’t watch movies, play games, or listen to music while I answered theendlessstreamofinanecalls.Theonlydistractionwasstaringattheclock.(OrtheIOIstockticker,whichwasalwaysatthetopofeveryindent’sdisplay.Youcouldn’tgetridofit.)Duringeachshift,Iwasgiventhreefive-minuterestroombreaks.Lunchwas

thirtyminutes.Iusuallyateinmycubicleinsteadofthecafeteria,soIwouldn’thave to listen to theother tech repsbitchabout their calls or boast about howmanyperkpointsthey’dearned.I’dgrowntodespisetheotherindentsalmostasmuchasthecustomers.Ifellasleepfiveseparatetimesduringmyshift.Eachtime,whenthesystem

sawthatI’ddriftedoff,itsoundedawarningklaxoninmyears,joltingmebackawake.Thenitnotedtheinfractioninmyemployeedatafile.Mynarcolepsyhadbecome such a consistent problemduringmy firstweek that Iwasnowbeingissuedtwolittleredpillseachdaytohelpmestayawake.Itookthemtoo.ButnotuntilafterIgotoffwork.Whenmyshift finallyended, I rippedoffmyheadsetandvisorandwalked

backtomyhab-unitasquicklyasIcould.ThiswastheonlytimeeachdayIeverhurriedanywhere.WhenI reachedmy tinyplasticcoffin, Icrawled insideandcollapsed on the mattress, facedown, in the same exact position as the nightbefore.And the night before that. I lay there for a fewminutes, staring at thetimereadoutonmyentertainmentconsoleoutofthecornerofmyeye.Whenitreached7:07p.m.,Irolledoverandsatup.

“Lights,”Isaidsoftly.Thishadbecomemyfavoritewordoverthepastweek.Inmymind,ithadbecomesynonymouswithfreedom.The lights embedded in the shell ofmyhab-unit shut off, plunging the tiny

compartment into darkness. If someone had been watching either of my livesecurityvidfeeds,theywouldhaveseenabriefflashasthecamerasswitchedtonight-vision mode. Then I would have been clearly visible on their monitorsonceagain.But,thankstosomesabotageI’dperformedearlierintheweek,thesecuritycamerasinmyhab-unitandmyeargearwerenownolongerperformingtheirassignedtasks.Soforthefirsttimethatday,Iwasn’tbeingwatched.Thatmeantitwastimetorock.I tapped the entertainment center console’s touchscreen. It lit up, presenting

mewith thesamechoicesI’dhadonmyfirstnighthere:ahandfulof trainingfilmsandsimulations,includingthecompleterunofTommyQueueepisodes.If anyone checked the usage logs for my entertainment center, they would

showthatIwatchedTommyQueueeverynightuntilIfellasleep,andthatonceI’d worked my way through all sixteen episodes, I’d started over at thebeginning.ThelogswouldalsoshowthatIfellasleepatroughlythesametimeeverynight(butnotatexactlythesametime),andthatIsleptlikethedeaduntilthefollowingmorning,whenmyalarmsounded.Ofcourse,Ihadn’treallybeenwatchingtheir inanecorporateshitcomevery

night.And Iwasn’t sleeping, either. I’d actually been operating on about twohoursofsleepanightforthepastweek,anditwasbeginningtotakeitstollonme.Butthemomentthelightsinmyhab-unitwentout,Ifeltenergizedandwide

awake. My exhaustion seemed to vanish as I began to navigate through theentertainmentcenteroperationmenusfrommemory,thefingersofmyrighthanddancingrapidlyacrossthetouchscreen.Aboutsevenmonthsearlier,I’dobtainedasetofIOIintranetpasswordsfrom

theL33tHax0rzWarezhaus,thesameblack-marketdataauctionsitewhereI’dpurchasedtheinformationneededtocreateanewidentity.Ikeptaneyeonalloftheblack-marketdatasites,becauseyouneverknewwhatmightbeupforsaleonthem.OASISserverexploits.ATMhacks.Celebritysextapes.Younameit.I’dbeenbrowsingthroughtheL33tHax0rzWarezhausauctionlistingswhenoneinparticular caughtmyeye: IOI IntranetAccessPasswords,BackDoors, andSystem Exploits. The seller claimed to be offering classified proprietaryinformationonIOI’s intranetarchitecture,alongwithaseriesofadministrativeaccesscodesandsystemexploitsthatcould“giveausercarteblancheinsidethecompanynetwork.”Iwould have assumed the datawas bogus had it not been listed on such a

respected site. The anonymous seller claimed to be a former IOI contractprogrammer and one of the lead architects of its company intranet. He wasprobably a turncoat—a programmer who intentionally coded back doors andsecurityholesintoasystemhedesigned,sothathecouldlatersellthemontheblackmarket.Itallowedhimtogetpaidforthesamejobtwice,andtosalveanyguilthefeltaboutworkingforademonicmultinationalcorporationlikeIOI.Theobviousproblem,whichthesellerdidn’tbothertopointoutintheauction

listing,was that thesecodeswereuselessunlessyoualreadyhadaccess to thecompanyintranet.IOI’sintranetwasahigh-security,standalonenetworkwithnodirect connections to theOASIS.Theonlyway toget access to IOI’s intranetwas to become one of their legitimate employees (very difficult and time-consuming).Oryoucouldjointhecompany’sever-growingranksofindenturedservants.I’d decided to bid on the IOI access codes anyway, on the off chance they

might come in handy someday. Since there was no way to verify the data’sauthenticity, thebiddingstayed low,and Iwon theauction fora few thousandcredits.The codes arrived inmy inboxa fewminutes after the auction ended.OnceI’dfinisheddecrypting thedata, Iexamineditall thoroughly.Everythinglookedlegit,soIfiled the infoawayforarainydayandforgotabout it—untilabout sixmonths later,when I saw theSixer barricade aroundCastleAnorak.The first thing I thought ofwas the IOI access codes.Then thewheels inmyheadbegantoturnandmyridiculousplanbegantotakeshape.I would alter the financial records on my bogus Bryce Lynch identity and

allowmyself tobecome indenturedby IOI.Once I infiltrated thebuildingandgotbehindthecompanyfirewall,IwouldusetheintranetpasswordstohackintotheSixers’privatedatabase, thenfigureaway tobringdowntheshield they’derectedoverAnorak’scastle.I didn’t think anyonewould anticipate thismove, because itwas so clearly

insane.

Ididn’ttesttheIOIpasswordsuntilthesecondnightofmyindenturement.Iwasunderstandably anxious, because if it turned out I’d been sold bogus data andnoneofthepasswordsworked,Iwouldhavesoldmyselfintolifelongslavery.Keepingmyeargearcamerapointed straight ahead, away from the screen, I

pulledup theentertainmentconsole’sviewersettingsmenu,whichallowedmeto make adjustments to the display’s audio and video output: volume andbalance,brightnessandtint.Icrankedeachoptionuptoitshighestsetting,thentappedtheApplybuttonatthebottomofthescreenthreetimes.Isetthevolume

and brightness controls to their lowest settings and tapped the Apply buttonagain.Asmallwindowappearedinthecenterofthescreen,promptingmeforamaintenance-tech ID number and access password. I quickly entered the IDnumberandthelongalphanumericpasswordthatI’dmemorized.Icheckedbothforerrorsoutof thecornerofmyeye, then tappedOK.Thesystempausedforwhat seemed like a very long time. Then, to my great relief, the followingmessageappeared:

MAINTENANCECONTROLPANEL—ACCESSGRANTEDI now had access to a maintenance service account designed to allow

repairmentotestanddebugtheentertainmentunit’svariouscomponents.Iwasnow logged in as a technician, but my access to the intranet was still prettylimited.Still, itgavemeall theelbowroomIneeded.Usinganexploit leftbyoneoftheprogrammers,Iwasnowabletocreateabogusadminaccount.Oncethatwassetup,Ihadaccesstojustabouteverything.Myfirstorderofbusinesswastogetsomeprivacy.I quickly navigated through several dozen submenus until I reached the

controlpanel for the IndentMonitoringSystem.When Ienteredmyemployeenumbermyindentprofileappearedonthedisplay,alongwithamugshotthey’dtakenofmeduringmy initialprocessing.Theprofile listedmy indentaccountbalance,paygrade,bloodtype,currentperformancereviewrating—everyscrapofdatathecompanyhadonme.Atthetoprightofmyprofileweretwovidfeedwindows,onefedbythecamerainmyeargear,theotherlinkedtothecamerainmyhab-unit.Myeargearvidfeedwascurrentlyaimedata sectionof thewall.Thehab-unitcamerawindowshowedaviewofthebackofmyhead,whichI’dpositionedtoblocktheentertainmentcenter’sdisplayscreen.I selected both vidfeed cameras and accessed their configuration settings.

Usingoneof the turncoat’sexploits, Iperformedaquickhack thatcausedmyeargearandhab-unitcamerastodisplaythearchivedvideofrommyfirstnightofindenturementinsteadofalivefeed.Now,ifsomeonecheckedmycamerafeeds,they’d see me lying asleep in my hab-unit, not sitting up all night, furiouslyhackingmywaythroughthecompanyintranet.ThenIprogrammedthecamerastoswitchtotheprerecordedfeedswheneverIshutoutthelightsinmyhab-unit.Thesplit-secondjumpcutinthefeedwouldbemaskedbythemomentaryvideodistortionthatoccurredwhenthecamerasswitchedintonight-visionmode.Ikeptexpecting tobediscoveredand lockedoutof thesystem,but itnever

happened.Mypasswordscontinuedtowork.I’dspentthepastsixnightslayingsiegetotheIOIintranet,diggingdeeperanddeeperintothenetwork.Ifeltlikea

convictinanoldprisonmovie,returningtomycelleachnighttotunnelthroughthewallwithateaspoon.Then,lastnight,justbeforeI’dsuccumbedtoexhaustion,I’dfinallymanaged

to navigate my way through the intranet’s labyrinth of firewalls and into themainOologyDivisiondatabase.Themother lode.TheSixers’privatefilepile.Andtonight,Iwouldfinallybeabletoexploreit.IknewthatIneededtobeabletotakesomeoftheSixers’datawithmewhen

Iescaped,soearlierintheweek,I’dusedmyintranetadminaccounttosubmitabogushardwarerequisitionform.Ihadaten-zettabyteflashdrivedeliveredtoanonexistent employee (“SamLowery”) in an empty cubicle a few rows awayfrom my own. Making sure to keep my eargear camera pointed in the otherdirection, I’d ducked into the cube, grabbed the tiny drive, pocketed it, andsmuggled it back to my hab-unit. That night, after I shut off the lights anddisabled thesecuritycameras, Iunlockedmyentertainmentunit’smaintenanceaccess panel and installed the flash drive into an expansion slot used forfirmwareupgrades.NowIcoulddownloaddatafromtheintranetdirectlytothatdrive.

I puton the entertainment center’svisor andgloves, then stretchedoutonmymattress.Thevisorpresentedmewith a three-dimensionalviewof theSixers’database,with dozens of overlappingdatawindows suspended in front ofme.Using my gloves, I began to manipulate these windows, navigating my waythroughthedatabase’sfilestructure.ThelargestsectionofthedatabaseappearedtobedevotedtoinformationonHalliday.Theamountofdatatheyhadonhimwasstaggering.ItmademygraildiarylooklikeasetofCliffsNotes.TheyhadthingsI’dneverseen.ThingsIdidn’tevenknowexisted.Halliday’sgrade-schoolreport cards, homemovies from his childhood, e-mails he’dwritten to fans. Ididn’thavetimetoreadoveritall,butIcopiedthereallyinterestingstuffovertomyflashdrive,to(hopefully)studylater.I focused on isolating the data related to Castle Anorak and the forces the

Sixershadpositionedinandaroundit.Icopiedalloftheintelontheirweapons,vehicles,gunships,andtroopnumbers.IalsosnaggedallofthedataIcouldfindontheOrbofOsuvox,theartifacttheywereusingtogeneratetheshieldaroundthe castle, including exactly where they were keeping it and the employeenumberoftheSixerwizardtheyhadoperatingit.Then I hit the jackpot—a folder containing hundreds of hours of OASIS

simcap recordings documenting the Sixers’ initial discovery of theThirdGateandtheirsubsequentattemptstoopenit.Aseveryonenowsuspected,theThird

Gatewas located insideCastleAnorak.OnlyavatarswhopossessedacopyoftheCrystalKeycouldcross the thresholdof thecastle’s frontentrance.Tomydisgust,IlearnedthatSorrentohadbeenthefirstavatartosetfootinsideCastleAnoraksinceHalliday’sdeath.The castle entrance led into amassive foyerwhosewalls, floor, and ceiling

wereallmadeofgold.Atthenorthendofthechamber,alargecrystaldoorwassetintothewall.Ithadasmallkeyholeatitsverycenter.ThemomentIsawit,IknewIwaslookingattheThirdGate.Ifast-forwardedthroughseveralotherrecentsimcapfiles.FromwhatIcould

tell,theSixersstillhadn’tfiguredouthowtoopenthegate.SimplyinsertingtheCrystalKeyintothekeyholehadnoeffect.They’dhadtheirentireteamtryingtofigureoutwhyforseveraldaysnow,butstillhadn’tmadeanyprogress.While the data and video on the ThirdGatewas copying over tomy flash

drive, I continued to delve deeper into the Sixer database. Eventually, IuncoveredarestrictedareacalledtheStarChamber.ItwastheonlyareaofthedatabaseIcouldn’tseemtoaccess.SoIusedmyadminIDtocreateanew“testaccount,” then gave that account superuser access and full administratorprivileges. It worked and I was granted access. The information inside therestricted area was divided into two folders: Mission Status and ThreatAssessments.IopenedtheThreatAssessmentsfolderfirst,andwhenIsawwhatwas inside, I felt the blood drain frommy face. There were five file folders,labeledParzival,Art3mis,Aech,Shoto,andDaito.Daito’sfolderhadalargered“X”overit.IopenedtheParzivalfolderfirst.Adetaileddossierappeared,containingall

of the information theSixershadcollectedonmeover thepast fewyears.Mybirth certificate. My school transcripts. At the bottom there was a link to asimcap of my entire chatlink session with Sorrento, ending with the bombdetonating inmyaunt’s trailer.After I’dgone intohiding, they’d lost trackofme.Theyhadcollectedthousandsofscreenshotsandvidcapsofmyavataroverthepastyear,andloadsofdataonmystrongholdonFalco,buttheydidn’tknowanything about my location in the real world. My current whereabouts werelistedas“unknown.”Iclosedthewindow,tookadeepbreath,andopenedthefileonArt3mis.Attheverytopwasaschoolphotoofayounggirlwithadistinctlysadsmile.

Tomysurprise,shelookedalmostidenticaltoheravatar.Thesamedarkhair,thesamehazel eyes, and the samebeautiful face I knew sowell—withone smalldifference.Mostof the lefthalfofher facewascoveredwitha reddish-purplebirthmark. I would later learn that these types of birthmark were sometimesreferredtoas“portwinestains.”Inthephoto,sheworeasweepofherdarkhair

downoverherlefteyetotrytoconcealthemarkasmuchaspossible.Art3mishadledmetobelievethat inrealityshewassomehowhideous,but

nowIsawthatnothingcouldhavebeenfurtherfromthetruth.Tomyeyes,thebirthmarkdidabsolutelynothingtodiminishherbeauty.Ifanything, thefaceIsaw in the photo seemed even more beautiful to me than that of her avatar,becauseIknewthisonewasreal.ThedatabelowthephotosaidthatherrealnamewasSamanthaEvelynCook,

thatshewasatwenty-year-oldCanadiancitizen,fivefeetandseveninchestall,and that she weighed one hundred and sixty-eight pounds. The file alsocontained her home address—2206 Greenleaf Lane, Vancouver, BritishColumbia—alongwithalotofotherinformation,includingherbloodtypeandherschooltranscriptsgoingallthewaybacktokindergarten.I found an unlabeled video link at the bottom of her dossier, and when I

selected it, a live vidfeed of a small suburban house appeared onmy display.Afterafewseconds,IrealizedIwaslookingatthehousewhereArt3mislived.AsIdugfurtherintoherfile,Ilearnedthatthey’dhadherundersurveillance

for the past five months. They had her house bugged too, because I foundhundreds of hours of audio recordings made while she was logged into theOASIS.Theyhadcompletetexttranscriptsofeveryaudiblewordshe’dspokenwhileclearingthefirsttwogates.I openedShoto’s file next. They knewhis real name,AkihideKaratsu, and

theyalso appeared tohavehishomeaddress, an apartmentbuilding inOsaka,Japan.His filealsocontainedaschoolphoto,showinga thin,stoicboywithashavedhead.LikeDaito,helookednothinglikehisavatar.Aechseemedtobetheonetheyknewtheleastabout.Hisfilecontainedvery

little information,andnophoto—justascreenshotofhisavatar.Hisrealnamewaslistedas“HenrySwanson,”butthatwasanaliasusedbyJackBurtoninBigTrouble inLittleChina, so Iknewitmustbea fake.Hisaddresswas listedas“mobile,” and below it therewas a link labeled “RecentAccess Points.”ThisturnedouttobealistofthewirelessnodelocationsAechhadrecentlyusedtoaccesshisOASISaccount.Theywereallover theplace:Boston;Washington,D.C.;NewYorkCity;Philadelphia;andmostrecently,Pittsburgh.NowIbegan tounderstandhow theSixershadbeenable to locateArt3mis

and Shoto. IOI owned hundreds of regional telecom companies, effectivelymaking them the largest Internet service provider in the world. It was prettydifficult togetonlinewithoutusinganetwork theyownedandoperated.Fromthe looks of it, IOI had been illegally eavesdropping on most of the world’sInternet traffic in anattempt to locateand identify thehandfulofgunters theyconsideredtobeathreat.Theonlyreasontheyhadn’tbeenabletolocatemewas

becauseI’dtakentheparanoia-inducedprecautionofleasingadirectfiber-opticconnectiontotheOASISfrommyapartmentcomplex.I closedAech’s file, thenopened the folder labeledDaito, alreadydreading

what I might find there. Like the others, they had his real name, ToshiroYoshiaki, and his home address. Two news articles about his “suicide” werelinked at the bottom of his dossier, alongwith an unlabeled video clip, time-stamped on the day he’d died. I clicked on it. It was handheld video camerafootageshowingthreelargemeninblackskimasks(oneofwhomwasoperatingthecamera)waitingsilentlyinahallway.Theyappearedtoreceiveanorderviatheirradioearpieces,thenusedakeycardtoopenthedoorofatinyone-roomapartment.Daito’sapartment.Iwatchedinhorrorastheyrushedin,yankedhimoutofhishapticchair,andthrewhimoffthebalcony.Thebastardsevenfilmedhimplummetingtohisdeath.ProbablyatSorrento’s

request.A wave of nausea washed over me. When it finally passed, I copied the

contents of all five dossiers over to my flash drive, then opened theMissionStatus folder. Itappeared tocontainanarchiveof theOologyDivision’sstatusreports, intended for theSixers’ top brass.The reportswere arranged by date,with the most recent one listed first. When I opened it, I saw that it was adirectivememosentfromNolanSorrentototheIOIBoardofExecutives.Init,SorrentoproposedsendingagentstoabductArt3misandShotofromtheirhomestoforcethemtohelpIOIopentheThirdGate.OncetheSixershadobtainedtheeggandwonthecontest,Art3misandShotowould“bedisposedof.”I sat there in stunned silence. Then I read the memo again, feeling a

combinationofrageandpanic.According to the time stamp, Sorrento had sent the memo just after eight

o’clock,lessthanfivehoursago.Sohissuperiorsprobablyhadn’tevenseenityet.Whentheydid,theywouldstillwanttomeettodiscussSorrento’ssuggestedcourseofaction.Sotheyprobablywouldn’tsendtheiragentsafterArt3misandShotountilsometimetomorrow.Istillhadtimetowarnthem.Buttodothat,Iwouldhavetodrasticallyalter

myescapeplan.Beforemyarrest,I’dsetupatimedfundstransferthatwoulddepositenough

moneyinmyIOIcreditaccounttopayoffmyentiredebt,forcingIOItoreleasemefromindenturement.Butthattransferwouldn’thappenforanotherfivedays.By then, the Sixers would probably have Art3mis and Shoto locked in awindowlessroomsomewhere.I couldn’t spend the rest of theweek exploring the Sixer database, like I’d

planned.IhadtograbasmuchdataasIcouldandmakemyescapenow.

Igavemyselfuntildawn.

Iworked frantically for the next four hours.Most of that time was spentcopying asmuch data as possible from the Sixer database tomy stolen flashdrive.Oncethattaskwascompleted,IsubmittedanExecutiveOologistSupplyRequisition Order. This was an online form that Sixer commanders used torequestweaponsorequipmentinsidetheOASIS.Iselectedaveryspecificitem,thenscheduleditsdeliveryfornoontwodaysfromnow.WhenIfinallyfinished,itwassixthirtyinthemorning.Thenexttech-support

shift change was now only ninety minutes away, and my hab-unit neighborswouldstartwakingupsoon.Iwasoutoftime.Ipulledupmyindenturementprofile,accessedmydebtstatement,andzeroed

outmyoutstandingbalance—moneyI’dneveractuallyborrowedtobeginwith.Then I selected the Indentured ServantObservation andCommunications Tagcontrol settingssubmenu,whichoperatedbothmyeargearandsecurityanklet.Finally,IdidsomethingI’dbeendyingtodoforthepastweek—Idisabledthelockingmechanismsonbothdevices.I felt a sharp pain as the eargear clamps retracted and pulled free of the

cartilageonmyleftear.Thedevicebouncedoffmyshoulderandlandedinmylap.Inthesameinstant,theshackleonmyrightankleclickedopenandfelloff,revealingabandofabradedredskin.I’dnowpassedthepointofnoreturn.IOIsecuritytechsweren’ttheonlyones

who had access to my eargear’s vidfeed. The Indentured Servant ProtectionAgencyalsousedittomonitorandrecordmydailyactivities,toensurethatmyhuman rights were being observed. Now that I’d removed the device, therewouldbenodigitalrecordofwhathappenedtomefromthismomentforward.IfIOI security caughtme before Imade it out of the building, carrying a stolenflashdrivefilledwithhighlyincriminatingcompanydata,Iwasdead.TheSixerscouldtortureandkillme,andnoonewouldeverknow.Iperformedafewfinaltasksrelatedtomyescapeplan,thenloggedoutofthe

IOI intranet for the last time. Ipulledoffmyvisorandglovesandopened the

maintenanceaccesspanelnexttotheentertainmentcenterconsole.Therewasasmallemptyspacebelowtheentertainmentmodule,betweentheprefabwallofmyhab-unitandtheoneadjacenttoit.Iremovedthethin,neatlyfoldedbundleI’d hidden there. It was a vacuum-sealed IOI maintenance-tech uniform,completewithacapandanIDbadge. (Like theflashdrive, I’dobtained theseitemsbysubmittinganintranetrequisitionform,thenhadthemdeliveredtoanemptycubicleonmyfloor.)Ipulledoffmyindentjumpsuitandusedittowipethebloodoffmyearandneck.ThenIremovedtwoBand-Aidsfromundermymattressandslappedthemovertheholesinmyearlobe.OnceIwasdressedinmynewmaintenance-tech threads, Icarefully removed theflashdrivefromitsexpansionslotandpocketedit.ThenIpickedupmyeargearandspokeintoit.“Ineedtousethebathroom,”Isaid.Thehab-unitdooririsedopenatmyfeet.Thehallwaywasdarkanddeserted.

Istuffedmyeargearandindentjumpsuitunderthemattressandputtheankletinthe pocket ofmy new uniform. Then, remindingmyself to breathe, I crawledoutsideanddescendedtheladder.Ipassedafewotherindentsonmywaytotheelevators,butasusual,noneof

themmadeeyecontact.Thiswasahugerelief,becauseIwasworriedsomeonemight recognize me and notice that I didn’t belong in a maintenance-techuniform.WhenIsteppedinfrontoftheexpresselevatordoor,Iheldmybreathas the system scannedmymaintenance-tech IDbadge.Afterwhat felt like aneternity,thedoorsslidopen.“Good morning, Mr. Tuttle,” the elevator said as I stepped inside. “Floor

please?”“Lobby,”Isaidhoarsely,andtheelevatorbegantodescend.“HarryTuttle”was thenameprintedonmymaintenance tech IDbadge. I’d

given the fictional Mr. Tuttle complete access to the entire building, thenreprogrammed my indent anklet so that it was encoded with the Tuttle ID,makingitfunctionjustlikeoneofthesecuritybraceletsthatmaintenancetechswore.WhenthedoorsandelevatorsscannedmetomakesureIhadthepropersecurityclearance,theankletinmypockettoldthemthatyes,Isuredid,insteadofdoingwhatitwassupposedtodo,whichwaszapmyasswithafewthousandvoltsandincapacitatemeuntilthesecurityguardsarrived.Irodetheelevatordowninsilence,tryingnottostareatthecameramounted

abovethedoors.ThenIrealizedthevideobeingshotofmewouldbescrutinizedwhenthiswasallover.Sorrentohimselfwouldprobablyseeit,andsowouldhissuperiors.SoIlookeddirectlyintothelensofthecamera,smiled,andscratchedthebridgeofmynosewithmymiddlefinger.Theelevatorreachedthelobbyandthedoorsslidopen.Ihalfexpectedtofind

anarmyofsecurityguardswaitingformeoutside,theirgunsleveledatmyface.ButtherewasonlyacrowdofIOImiddle-managementdroneswaitingtogetontheelevator.Istaredatthemblanklyforasecond,thensteppedoutofthecar.Itwaslikecrossingtheborderintoanothercountry.A steady streamof overcaffeinated officeworkers scurried across the lobby

and in and out of the elevators and exits. These were regular employees, notindents. Theywere allowed to go home at the end of their shifts. They couldevenquitiftheywantedto.Iwonderedifitbotheredanyofthem,knowingthatthousandsofindenturedslaveslivedandtoiledhereinthesamebuilding,justafewfloorsawayfromthem.Ispottedtwosecurityguardsstationednearthereceptiondeskandgavethem

awideberth,weavingmyway through the thickcrowd,crossing the immenselobby to the long rowof automatic glass doors that led outside, to freedom. Iforced myself not to run as I pushed through the arriving workers. Just amaintenance tech here, folks, heading home after a long night of rebootingrouters.That’sall.Iamdefinitelynotanindentmakingadaringescapewithtenzettabytesofstolencompanydatainhispocket.Nosiree.Halfwaytothedoors,Inoticedanoddsoundandglanceddownatmyfeet.I

was still wearing my disposable plastic indent slippers. Each footfall made ashrill squeak on the waxed marble floor, standing out amid the rumble ofsensiblebusinessfootwear.EverystepItookseemedtoscream:Hey,look!Overhere!Aguyintheplasticslippers!ButIkeptwalking.Iwasalmosttothedoorswhensomeoneplacedahandon

myshoulder.Ifroze.“Sir?”Iheardsomeonesay.Itwasawoman’svoice.Ialmostboltedout thedoor,butsomethingabout thewoman’s tonestopped

me.Iturnedandsawtheconcernedfaceofatallwomaninhermidforties.Darkblue business suit. Briefcase. “Sir, your ear is bleeding.” She pointed at it,wincing.“Alot.”Ireachedupandtouchedmyearlobe,andmyhandcameawayred.Atsome

point,theBand-AidsI’dappliedhadfallenoff.Iwasparalyzedforasecond,unsureofwhat todo. Iwanted togiveheran

explanation,butcouldn’t thinkofone.SoIsimplynodded,muttered“thanks,”thenturnedaroundand,ascalmlyaspossible,walkedoutside.Thefrozenmorningwindwassofiercethatitnearlyknockedmeover.When

Iregainedmybalance,Iboundeddownthetieredsteps,pausingbrieflytodropmyankletintoatrashreceptacle.Iheardithitthebottomwithasatisfyingthud.Once I reached the street, I headednorth,walkingas fast asmy feetwould

carry me. I was somewhat conspicuous because I was the only person notwearingacoatofsomekind.Myfeetquicklywentnumb,becauseIalsowasn’t

wearingsocksundermyplasticindentslippers.MyentirebodywasshiveringbythetimeIfinallyreachedthewarmconfines

oftheMailbox,apostofficeboxrentaloutletlocatedfourblocksfromtheIOIplaza.Theweekbeforemyarrest, I’d rentedapostofficeboxhereonlineandhad a top-of-the-line portable OASIS rig shipped to it. The Mailbox wascompletelyautomated,sotherewerenoemployeestocontendwith,andwhenIwalkedintherewerenocustomerseither.Ilocatedmybox,punchedinthekeycode,andretrievedtheportableOASISrig.Isatdownonthefloorandrippedopenthepackagerightthere.Irubbedmyfrozenhandstogetheruntilthefeelingreturnedtomyfingers,thenputontheglovesandvisorandusedtherigtologinto the OASIS. Gregarious Simulation Systemswas located less than amileaway, so Iwas able to use one of their complimentarywireless access pointsinsteadofoneofthecitynodesownedbyIOI.MyheartwaspoundingasIloggedin.I’dbeenofflineforeightwholedays—

a personal record. As my avatar slowly materialized on my stronghold’sobservationdeck,I lookeddownatmyvirtualbody,admiringit likeafavoritesuit Ihadn’tworn inawhile.Awindowimmediatelyappearedonmydisplay,informingmethatI’dreceivedseveralmessagesfromAechandShoto.And,tomysurprise,therewasevenamessagefromArt3mis.AllthreeofthemwantedtoknowwhereIwasandwhatthehellhadhappenedtome.I replied toArt3mis first. I told her that the Sixers knewwho shewas and

whereshelivedandthattheyhadherunderconstantsurveillance.Ialsowarnedherabouttheirplanstoabductherfromherhome.Ipulledacopyofherdossieroff the flash drive and attached it to my message as proof. Then I politelysuggestedthatsheleavehomeimmediatelyandgetthehelloutofDodge.Don’tstoptopackasuitcase, Iwrote.Don’tsaygood-bye toanyone.Leave

rightnow,andgetsomewheresafe.Makesureyouaren’tfollowed.Thenfindasecurenon-IOI-controlledInternetconnectionandgetbackonline.I’llmeetyouinAech’sBasementassoonasIcan.Don’tworry—Ihavesomegoodnewstoo.Atthebottomofthemessage,Iaddedashortpostscript:PS—Ithinkyoulook

evenmorebeautifulinreallife.I sent similar e-mails to Shoto andAech (minus the postscript), alongwith

copies of their Sixer dossiers. Then I pulled up the United States CitizenRegistrydatabaseandattemptedtologin.Tomygreatrelief,thepasswordsI’dpurchased stillworked, and Iwas able to access the fakeBryceLynch citizenprofile I’d created. It now contained the ID photo taken during my indentprocessing, and thewordsWANTEDFUGITIVEwere superimposed overmy face.IOIhadalreadyreportedMr.Lynchasanescapedindent.Itdidn’ttakemeverylongtocompletelyerasetheBryceLynchidentityand

copymyfingerprintsandretinalpatternsbackovertomyoriginalcitizenprofile.WhenI loggedoutof thedatabaseafewminuteslater,BryceLynchnolongerexisted.IwasWadeWattsonceagain.

IhailedanautocaboutsidetheMailbox,makingsuretoselectoneoperatedbyalocalcabcompanyandnotaSupraCab,whichwasawhollyownedsubsidiaryofIOI.WhenIgotin,IheldmybreathasIpressedmythumbtotheIDscanner.The

display flashed green. The system recognized me as Wade Watts, not as thefugitiveindentBryceLynch.“Goodmorning,Mr.Watts,”theautocabsaid.“Whereto?”IgavethecabtheaddressofaclothingstoreonHighStreet,closetotheOSU

campus. It was a place called Thr3ads,which specialized in “high-tech urbanstreetwear.” I ran insideandboughtapairof jeansanda sweater.Both itemswere“dichotomywear,”meaningtheywerewiredforOASISuse.Theydidn’thavehaptics,butthepantsandshirtcouldlinkupwithmyportableimmersionrig, letting itknowwhat Iwasdoingwithmy torso,arms,and legs,making iteasiertocontrolmyavatarthanwithagloves-onlyinterface.Ialsoboughtafewpacksofsocksandunderwear,asimulatedleatherjacket,apairofboots,andablackknit-woolcaptocovermyfreezing,stubble-coverednoggin.Iemergedfromthestoreafewminuteslaterdressedinmynewthreads.As

thefrigidwindenvelopedmeagainIzippedupmynewjacketandpulledonthewoolcap.Muchbetter.Itossedthemaintenance-techjumpsuitandplasticindentshoesinatrashcan,thenbegantowalkupHighStreet,scanningthestorefronts.I kept my head down to avoid making eye contact with the stream of sullenuniversitystudentsfilingpastme.Afewblockslater,IduckedintoaVend-Allfranchise.Insidetherewererows

ofvendingmachines that sold everythingunder the sun.Oneof them, labeledDEFENSE DISPENSER, offered self-defense equipment: lightweight body armor,chemical repellents, and awide selection of handguns. I tapped the screen setintothefrontofthemachineandscrolledthroughthecatalog.Afteramoment’sdeliberation, I purchased a flak vest and aGlock 47Cpistol, alongwith threeclipsofammo.Ialsoboughtasmallcanisterofmace,thenpaidforeverythingbypressingmyrightpalmtoahandscanner.Myidentitywasverifiedandmycriminalrecordwaschecked.

NAME:WADEWATTSOUTSTANDINGWARRANTS:NONE

CREDITRATING:EXCELLENTPURCHASERESTRICTIONS:NONETRANSACTIONAPPROVED!THANKYOUFORYOURBUSINESS!

Iheardaheavymetallicthunkasmypurchasesslidintothesteeltraynearmy

knees. I pocketed themaceandput the flakvestonunderneathmynewshirt.ThenIremovedtheGlockfromitsclearplasticblisterpackaging.ThiswasthefirsttimeI’deverheldarealgun.Evenso,theweaponfeltfamiliarinmyhands,becauseI’dfiredthousandsofvirtualfirearmsintheOASIS.Ipressedasmallbuttonsetintothebarrelandthegunemittedatone.Iheldthepistolgripfirmlyfor a fewseconds, first inmy righthand, thenmy left.Theweaponemittedasecondtone,lettingmeknowithadfinishedscanningmyhandprints.Iwasnowtheonlypersonwhocould fire it.Theweaponhadabuilt-in timer thatwouldpreventitfromfiringforanothertwelvehours(a“cooling-offperiod”),butIstillfeltbetterhavingitonme.Iwalked to anOASIS parlor located a few blocks away, a franchise outlet

called the Plug. The dingy backlit sign, which featured a smilinganthropomorphic fiber-optic cable, promised Lightning-Fast OASIS Access!CheapGearRental!andPrivateImmersionBays!Open24-7-365!I’dseenalotof banner ads for the Plug online. They had a reputation for high prices andoutdatedhardware,buttheirconnectionsweresupposedtobefast,reliable,andlag-free. Forme, theirmajor selling point was that theywere one of the fewOASISparlorchainsnotownedbyIOIoroneofitssubsidiaries.ThemotiondetectoremittedabeepasIsteppedthroughthefrontdoor.There

wasasmallwaitingareaofftomyright,currentlyempty.Thecarpetwasstainedand worn, and the whole place reeked of industrial-strength disinfectant. Avacant-eyedclerkglancedupatmefrombehindabulletproofPlexiglasbarrier.Hewasinhisearlytwenties,withaMohawkanddozensoffacialpiercings.Hewas wearing a bifocal visor, which gave him a semitransparent view of theOASISwhile also allowing him to see his real-world surroundings.When hespoke, I saw that his teeth had all been sharpened to points. “Welcome to thePlug,” he said in a flat monotone. “We have several bays free, so there’s nowaiting.Packagepricinginformationisdisplayedrighthere.”Hepointedtothedisplay screen mounted on the counter directly in front of me; then his eyesglazedoverasherefocusedhisattentionontheworldinsidehisvisor.I scanned my choices. A dozen immersion rigs were available, of varying

quality and price.Economy, Standard, Deluxe. I was given detailed specs oneach.Youcouldrentbytheminute,orpayaflathourlyrate.Avisorandapair

ofhapticgloveswere included in the rental price, but ahaptic suit cost extra.Therentalcontractcontainedalotoffineprintabouttheadditionalchargesyouwouldincurifyoudamagedtheequipment,andalotoflegalesestatingthatthePlug could not be held responsible for anything you did, under anycircumstances,especiallyifitwassomethingillegal.“I’dliketorentoneofthedeluxerigsfortwelvehours,”Isaid.Theclerkraisedhisvisor.“Youhavetopayinadvance,yourealize?”Inodded.“Ialsowanttorentafat-pipeconnection.Ineedtouploadalarge

amountofdatatomyaccount.”“Uploadingcostsextra.Howmuchdata?”“Tenzettabytes.”“Damn,”hewhispered.“Whatyouuploading?TheLibraryofCongress?”Iignoredthequestion.“IalsowanttheMondoUpgradePackage,”Isaid.“Sure thing,” theclerk repliedwarily. “Your total comes toeleven thousand

bigones.Justputyourthumbonthedrumandwe’llgetyouallfixedup.”Helookedmorethanalittlesurprisedwhenthetransactioncleared.Thenhe

shruggedandhandedmeakeycard, avisor, andsomegloves. “Bay fourteen.Lastdooronyourright.Therestroomisattheendofthehall.Ifyouleaveanykindofmess in thebay,we’llhave tokeepyourdeposit.Vomit,urine,semen,thatkindathing.AndI’mtheguywhohastocleanitup,sodomeasolidandshowsomerestraint,willya?”“Yougotit.”“Enjoy.”“Thanks.”Bayfourteenwasasoundproofedten-by-tenroomwithalate-modelhapticrig

inthecenter.Ilockedthedoorbehindmeandclimbedintotherig.Thevinylonthehaptic chairwasworn and cracked. I slid thedata drive into a slot on thefrontoftheOASISconsoleandsmiledasitlockedintoplace.“Max?” I said to the empty air, once I’d logged back in. This booted up a

backupofMaxthatIkeptstoredinmyOASISaccount.Max’s smiling face appearedon all ofmycommandcentermonitors. “H-h-

heythere,compadre!”hestuttered.“H-h-howgoesit?”“Thingsarelookingup,pal.Nowstrapin.We’vegotalotofworktodo.”I opened upmyOASIS accountmanager and initiated the upload frommy

flashdrive.IpaidGSSamonthlyfeeforunlimiteddatastorageonmyaccount,and Iwas about to test its limits.Evenusing thePlug’shigh-bandwidth fiber-opticconnection, thetotalestimateduploadtimefor tenzettabytesofdatawasoverthreehours.IreorderedtheuploadsequencesothefilesIneededaccesstoright away would get transferred first. As soon as data was uploaded to my

OASISaccount Ihad immediateaccess to itandcouldalso transfer it tootherusersinstantaneously.First,Ie-mailedallofthemajornewsfeedsadetailedaccountofhowIOIhad

triedtokillme,howtheyhadkilledDaito,andhowtheywereplanningtokillArt3misandShoto.IattachedoneofthevideoclipsI’dretrievedfromtheSixerdatabasetothemessage—thevideocamerafootageofDaito’sexecution.IalsoattachedacopyofthememoSorrentohadsenttotheIOIboard,suggestingthatthey abductArt3mis and Shoto. Finally, I attached the simcap ofmy chatlinksessionwithSorrento, but I bleeped thepartwherehe saidmy real name andblurred the image of my school photo. I wasn’t yet ready to reveal my trueidentitytotheworld.Iplannedtoreleasetheuneditedvideolater,oncetherestofmyplanhadplayedout.Thenitwouldn’tmatter.Ispentaboutfifteenminutescomposingonelaste-mail,whichIaddressedto

everysingleOASISuser.OnceIwashappywiththewording,IstoreditinmyDraftsfolder.ThenIloggedintoAech’sBasement.Whenmyavatarappearedinsidethechatroom,IsawthatAech,Art3mis,and

Shotowerealreadytherewaitingforme.

“Z!” Aech shouted as my avatar appeared. “What the hell, man? Wherehaveyoubeen?I’vebeentryingtoreachyouforoveraweek!”“SohaveI,”Shotoadded.“Wherewereyou?Andhowdidyougetthosefiles

fromtheSixerdatabase?”“It’salongstory,”Isaid.“Firstthingsfirst.”IaddressedShotoandArt3mis.

“Haveyoutwoleftyourhomes?”Theybothnodded.“Andyou’reeachloggedinfromasafelocation?”“Yes,”Shotosaid.“I’minamangacaferightnow.”“And I’m at theVancouver airport,”Art3mis said. It was the first time I’d

heard her voice inmonths. “I’m logged in from a germ-ridden publicOASISboothrightnow.Iranoutofmyhousewithnothingbuttheclothesonmyback,soIhopethatSixerdatayousentusislegit.”“Itis,”Isaid.“Trustme.”“Howcanyoubesureofthat?”Shotoasked.“BecauseIhackedintotheSixerDatabaseanddownloadeditmyself.”Theyallstaredatmeinsilence.Aechraisedaneyebrow.“Andhow,exactly,

didyoumanagethat,Z?”“I assumed a fake identity and masqueraded as an indentured servant to

infiltrateIOI’scorporateheadquarters.I’vebeenthereforthepasteightdays.Ijustnowescaped.”“Holyshit!”Shotowhispered.“Seriously?”Inodded.“Dude,youhaveballsofsolidadamantium,”Aechsaid.“Respect.”“Thanks.Ithink.”“Let’sassumeyou’renottotallybullshittingus,”Art3missaid.“Howdoesa

lowlyindentgetaccesstosecretSixerdossierfilesandcompanymemos?”Iturnedtofaceher.“Indentshavelimitedaccesstothecompanyintranetvia

theirhab-unitentertainmentsystem,frombehindtheIOIfirewall.Fromthere,I

wasable tousea seriesofbackdoorsand systemexploits leftby theoriginalprogrammers to tunnel through the network and hack directly into the Sixers’privatedatabase.”Shotolookedatmeinawe.“Youdidthat?Allbyyourself?”“Thatiscorrect,sir.”“It’samiracletheydidn’tcatchyouandkillyou,”Art3missaid.“Whywould

youtakesuchastupidrisk?”“Why do you think? To try and find away to get through their shield and

reachtheThirdGate.”Ishrugged.“ItwastheonlyplanIcouldcomeupwithonsuchshortnotice.”“Z,”Aechsaid,grinning,“youareonecrazysonofabitch.”Hewalkedover

andgavemeahighfive.“Butthat’swhyIloveyou,man!”Art3misscowledatme.“Ofcourse,whenyoufoundouttheyhadsecretfiles

oneachofus,youjustcouldn’tresistlookingatthem,couldyou?”“Ihadtolookatthem!”Isaid.“Tofindouthowmuchtheyknewabouteach

ofus!Youwouldhavedonethesamething.”She leveled a finger at me. “No, I wouldn’t have. I respect other people’s

privacy!”“Art3mis, chill out!” Aech interjected. “He probably saved your life, you

know.”Sheseemedtoconsiderthis.“Fine,”shesaid.“Forgetit.”ButIcouldtellshe

wasstillpissedoff.Ididn’tknowwhattosay,soIkeptplowingforward.“I’m sending each of you a copy of all the Sixer data I smuggled out. Ten

zettabytesofit.Youshouldhaveitnow.”Iwaitedwhileeachofthemcheckedtheirinbox.“ThesizeoftheirdatabaseonHallidayisunreal.Hiswholelifeisinthere.They’vecollectedinterviewswitheveryoneHallidayeverknew.Itcouldtakemonthstoreadthroughthemall.”Iwaitedforafewminutes,watchingtheireyesscanoverthedata.“Whoa!” Shoto said. “This is incredible.”He looked over atme. “How the

helldidyouescapefromIOIwithallofthisstuff?”“Bybeingextrasneaky.”“Aech is right,”Art3mis said, shaking her head. “You are certifiably nuts.”

Shehesitatedforasecond, thenadded,“Thanksfor thewarning,Z.Ioweyouone.”Iopenedmymouthtosay“you’rewelcome,”butnowordscameout.“Yes,”Shotosaid.“SodoI.Thanks.”“Don’tmentionit,guys,”Ifinallymanagedtosay.“Well?” Aech said. “Hit us with the bad news already. How close are the

SixerstoclearingtheThirdGate?”“Dig this,” I said, grinning.“They haven’t even figured out how to open it

yet.”Art3misandShotostaredatmeindisbelief.Aechsmiledwide,thenbeganto

bobhisheadandpresshispalmstothesky,asifdancingtosomeunheardravetrack.“Ohyes!Ohyes!”hesang.“You’rekidding,right?”Shotoasked.Ishookmyhead.“You’renotkidding?”Art3missaid.“Howis thatpossible?Sorrentohasthe

CrystalKeyandheknowswherethegateis.Allhehastodoisopenthedamnthingandstepinside,right?”“Thatwastrueforthefirsttwogates,”Ireplied.“ButGateThreeisdifferent.”

Iopenedalargevidfeedwindowintheairbesideme.“Checkthisout.It’sfromtheSixers’videoarchive.It’savidcapoftheirfirstattempttoopenthegate.”I hit Play. The video clip openedwith a shot of Sorrento’s avatar standing

outsidethefrontgatesofCastleAnorak.Thecastle’sfrontentrance,whichhadbeenimpregnableforsomanyyears,swungopenasSorrentoapproached, likeanautomaticdooratasupermarket.“ThecastleentrancewillopenforanavatarwhoholdsacopyoftheCrystalKey,”Iexplained.“Ifanavatardoesn’thaveacopy of the key, he can’t cross the threshold and enter the castle, even if thedoorsarealreadyopen.”Weallwatched thevidcapasSorrentopassed through theentranceand into

thelargegold-linedfoyerthatlaybeyond.Sorrento’savatarcrossedthepolishedfloorandapproachedthelargecrystaldoorsetintothenorthwall.Therewasakeyhole in theverycenterof thedoor,anddirectlyabove it, threewordswereetchedintothedoor’sglittering,facetedsurface:CHARITY.HOPE.FAITH.Sorrentosteppedforward,holdingouthiscopyoftheCrystalKey.Heslidthe

keyintothekeyholeandturnedit.Nothinghappened.Sorrento glanced up at the threewords printed on the gate. “Charity, hope,

faith,”hesaid,readingthemaloud.Onceagain,nothinghappened.Sorrento removed thekey, recited the threewordsagain, then reinserted the

keyandturnedit.Stillnothing.I studied Aech, Art3mis, and Shoto as they watched the video. Their

excitementandcuriosityhadalreadyshiftedintoconcentrationastheyattemptedto solve the puzzle before them. I paused the video. “Whenever Sorrento islogged in, he has a team of consultants and researchers watching his everymove,”Isaid.“Youcanhear theirvoicesonsomeof thevidcaps,feedinghimsuggestions and advice through his comlink. So far, they haven’t been muchhelp.Watch—”

Onthevideo,Sorrentowasmakinganotherattempttoopenthegate.Hedideverythingexactlyasbefore,exceptthistime,whenheinsertedtheCrystalKey,heturneditcounterclockwiseinsteadofclockwise.“Theytryeveryasininethingyoucanimagine,”Isaid.“Sorrentorecitesthe

wordsonthegateinLatin.AndElvish.AndKlingon.ThentheygethunguponrecitingFirstCorinthians13:13,aBibleverse thatcontains thewords ‘charity,hope,andfaith.’Apparently,‘charity,hope,andfaith’arealsothenamesofthreemartyred Catholic saints. The Sixers have been trying to attach somesignificancetothatforthepastfewdays.”“Morons,”Aechsaid.“Hallidaywasanatheist.”“They’re getting desperate now,” I said. “Sorrento has tried everything but

genuflecting,doingalittledance,andstickinghispinkyfingerinthekeyhole.”“That’sprobablynextuponhisagenda,”Shotosaid,grinning.“Charity,hope,faith,”Art3missaid,recitingthewordsslowly.Sheturnedto

me.“WheredoIknowthatfrom?”“Yeah,”Aechsaid.“Thosewordsdosoundfamiliar.”“Ittookmeawhiletoplacethemtoo,”Isaid.Theyalllookedatmeexpectantly.“Say them in reverse order,” I suggested. “Better yet, sing them in reverse

order.”Art3mis’seyesnarrowed.“Faith,hope,charity,”shesaid.Sherepeatedthem

a few times, recognitiongrowing inher face.Then she sang: “Faithand hopeandcharity…”Aechpickedupthenextline:“Theheartandthebrainandthebody…”“Giveyouthree…asamagicnumber!”Shotofinishedtriumphantly.“SchoolhouseRock!”theyallshoutedinunison.“See?”Isaid.“Iknewyouguyswouldgetit.You’reasmartbunch.”“ ‘Three Is aMagicNumber,’music and lyrics byBobDorough,”Art3mis

recited, as if pulling the information from amental encyclopedia. “Written in1973.”Ismiledather.“Ihaveatheory.IthinkthismightbeHalliday’swayoftelling

ushowmanykeysarerequiredtoopentheThirdGate.”Art3misgrinned,thensang,“Ittakesthree.”“Nomore,noless,”continuedShoto.“Youdon’thavetoguess,”addedAech.“Three,” I finished,“is themagicnumber.” I tookoutmyowncopyof the

CrystalKeyandhelditup.Theothersdidthesame.“Wehavefourcopiesofthekey.Ifatleastthreeofuscanreachthegate,wecangetitopen.”“Whatthen?”Aechasked.“Doweallenterthegateatthesametime?”

“Whatifonlyoneofuscanenterthegateonceit’sopen?”Art3missaid.“IdoubtHallidaywouldhavesetituplikethat,”Isaid.“Who knows what that crazy bastard was thinking?” Art3mis said. “He’s

toyed with us every step of the way, and now he’s doing it again.Why elsewouldherequirethreecopiesoftheCrystalKeytoopenthefinalgate?”“Maybebecausehewantedtoforceustoworktogether?”Isuggested.“Or he just wanted the contest to end with a big, dramatic finale,” Aech

offered.“Thinkaboutit.IfthreeavatarsentertheThirdGateattheexactsamemoment,thenitbecomesaracetoseewhocanclearthegateandreachtheeggfirst.”“Hallidaywasonecrazy,sadisticbastard,”Art3mismuttered.“Yeah,”Aechsaid,nodding.“Yougotthatright.”“Lookatitthisway,”Shotosaid.“IfHallidayhadn’tsetuptheThirdGateto

requirethreekeys…theSixersmighthavealreadyfoundtheeggbynow.”“But theSixershaveadozenavatarswithcopiesof theCrystalKey,”Aech

said.“Theycouldopenthegaterightnow,iftheyweresmartenoughtofigureouthow.”“Dilettantes,” Art3mis said. “It’s their own fault for not knowing all the

SchoolhouseRock!lyricsbyheart.Howdidthosefoolsevengetthisfar?”“Bycheating,”Isaid.“Remember?”“Oh,that’sright.Ikeepforgetting.”Shegrinnedatme,andIfeltmykneesgo

allrubbery.“JustbecausetheSixershaven’topenedthegateyetdoesn’tmeantheywon’t

figureitouteventually,”Shotosaid.Inodded.“Shoto’sright.Soonerorlaterthey’llmaketheSchoolhouseRock!

connection.Sowecan’twasteanymoretime.”“Well,whatarewewaitingfor?”Shotosaidexcitedly.“Weknowwherethe

gateisandhowtoopenit!Solet’sdoit!Andmaythebestgunterwin!”“You’re forgetting something, Shoto-san,” Aech said. “Parzival here still

hasn’ttoldushowwe’regoingtogetpastthatshield,fightourwaythroughtheSixers’army,andgetinsidethecastle.”Heturnedtome.“Youdohaveaplanforthat,don’tyou,Z?”“Of course,” I said. “Iwas just getting to that.” Imade a sweeping gesture

with my right hand, and a three-dimensional hologram of Castle Anorakappeared, floating in the air in front of me. The transparent blue spheregeneratedbytheOrbofOsuvoxappearedaroundthecastle,surroundingitbothabove-andbelowground.Ipointedtoit.“Thisshieldisgoingtodroponitsown,atnoononMonday,about thirty-sixhoursfromnow.Andthenwe’regoing towalkrightthroughthecastle’sfrontentrance.”

“Theshieldisgoingtodrop?Onitsown?”Art3misrepeated.“Theclanshavebeenlobbingnukesatthatsphereforthepasttwoweeks,andtheyhaven’tevenscratchedit.Howareyougoingtogetitto‘droponitsown’?”“I’vealreadytakencareofit,”Isaid.“Youguysaregonnahavetotrustme.”“I trust you,Z,”Aech said. “But even if that shielddoesdrop, to reach the

castle,we’llstillhavetofightourwaythroughthelargestarmyintheOASIS.”Hepointedtothehologram,whichshowedtheSixertrooppositionsaroundthecastle, just inside the sphere. “What about these fools? And their tanks?Andtheirgunships?”“Obviously,we’regoingtoneedalittlehelp,”Isaid.“Alotofhelp,”Art3misclarified.“Andwho,exactly,arewegoingtoconvincetohelpuswagewaragainstthe

entireSixerarmy?”Aechasked.“Everyone,” I said. “Every single gunter on the grid.” I opened another

window, displaying the brief e-mail I’d composed just before logging into theBasement.“I’mgoingtosendthismessageouttonight, toeverysingleOASISuser.”

Fellowgunters,

Itisadarkday.Afteryearsofdeception,exploitation,andknavery,theSixershavefinallymanagedtobuyandcheattheirwaytotheentranceoftheThirdGate.

Asyouknow,IOIhasbarricadedCastleAnorakinanattempttopreventanyone else from reaching the egg.We’ve also learned that they’ve usedillegalmethods touncover the identitiesofgunters theyconsidera threat,withtheintentionofabductingandmurderingthem.

Ifguntersaroundtheworlddon’tjoinforcestostoptheSixers,theywillreachtheeggandwinthecontest.AndthentheOASISwillfallunderIOI’simperialistrule.

Thetimeisnow.OurassaultontheSixerarmywillbegintomorrowatnoon,OST.

Joinus!

Sincerely,

Aech,Art3mis,Parzival,andShoto“Knavery?”Art3mis saidafter she’d finished reading it. “Wereyouusinga

thesauruswhenyouwrotethis?”“Iwastryingtomakeitsound,youknow,grand,”Isaid.“Official.”“Melikey,Z,”Aechsaid.“Itreallygetsthebloodstirring.”“Thanks,Aech.”“So that’s it? This is your plan?” Art3mis said. “Spam the entire OASIS,

askingforhelp?”“Moreorless,yeah.That’stheplan.”“And you really think everyone will just show up and help us fight the

Sixers?”shesaid.“Justforthehellofit?”“Yes,”Isaid.“Ido.”Aechnodded. “He’s right.Noonewants theSixers towin thecontest.And

theydefinitelydon’twantIOItotakecontroloftheOASIS.Peoplewilljumpata chance to help bring the Sixers down.Andwhat gunter is gonna pass up achancetofightinsuchanepic,history-makingbattle?”“Butwon’ttheclansthinkwe’rejusttryingtomanipulatethem?”Shotosaid.

“Sothatwecanreachthegateourselves?”“Of course,” I said. “But most of them have already given up. Everyone

knowstheendoftheHuntisathand.Don’tyouthinkmostpeoplewouldratherseeoneofuswinthecontest,insteadofSorrentoandtheSixers?”Art3mis considered it for a moment. “You’re right. That e-mail just might

work.”“Z,”Aech said, slappingmeon theback, “you are an evil, sublimegenius!

Whenthate-mailgoesout,themediawillgoapeshit!Thewordwillspreadlikewildfire.By this time tomorrow, every avatar in theOASISwill be headed toChthonia.”“Let’shopeso,”Isaid.“Oh, they’ll showup,all right,”Art3missaid.“Buthowmanyof themwill

actuallyfight,oncetheyseewhatwe’reupagainst?Mostofthemwillprobablysetuplawnchairsandeatpopcornwhiletheywatchusgetourasseskicked.”“That’sdefinitelyapossibility,” I said.“But theclanswillhelpus, forsure.

They’vegotnothingtolose.Andwedon’thavetodefeattheentireSixerarmy.Wejusthavetopunchaholethroughit,getinsidethecastle,andreachthegate.”“Three of us have to reach the gate,”Aech said. “If only one or two of us

makeitinside,we’rescrewed.”“Correct,”Isaid.“Soweshouldalltryextremelyhardnottogetkilled.”Art3misandAechbothlaughednervously.Shotojustshookhishead.“Evenif

wegetthegateopen,westillhavetocontendwiththegateitself,”hesaid.“It’sboundtobehardertoclearthanthefirsttwo.”“Let’sworryaboutthegatelater,”Isaid.“Oncewereachit.”“Fine,”Shotosaid.“Let’sdothisthing.”“Isecondthat,”Aechsaid.“So,youtwoareactuallygonnagoalongwiththis?”Art3missaid.“Yougotabetteridea,sister?”Aechasked.Sheshrugged.“No.Notreally.”“OKthen,”Aechsaid.“It’ssettled.”Iclosedthee-mail.“I’msendingeachofyouacopyofthismessage,”Isaid.

“Start sending it out tonight, to everyone on your contact list. Post it on yourblogs.BroadcastitonyourPOVchannels.We’vegotthirty-sixhourstospreadthe word. That should be enough time for everyone to gear up and get theiravatarstoChthonia.”“As soon as the Sixers catch wind of this, they’ll start preparing for an

assault,”Art3missaid.“They’regonnapulloutallthestops.”“Theymightjustlaughitoff,”Isaid.“Theythinktheirshieldisimpregnable.”“It is,” Art3mis said. “So I hope you’re right about being able to shut it

down.”“Don’tworry.”“WhywouldIbeworried?”Art3missnapped.“Maybeyou’veforgotten,but

I’mhomelessandontherunformyliferightnow!I’mcurrentlyloggedinfromapublicterminalatanairport,payingforbandwidthbytheminute.Ican’tfighta war from here, much less try to clear the Third Gate. And I don’t haveanywheretogo.”Shoto nodded. “I don’t think I can staywhere I am either. I’m in a rented

boothatapublicmangacafeinOsaka.Idon’thavemuchprivacy.AndIdon’tthinkit’ssafeformetostayhereiftheSixershaveagentsoutlookingforme.”Art3mislookedatme.“Anysuggestions?”“Ihatetobreakittoyouguys,butI’mhomelessandloggedinfromapublic

terminalrightnowtoo,”Isaid.“I’vebeenhidingoutfromtheSixersforoverayear,remember?”“I’ve got an RV,”Aech said. “You’re all welcome to crashwithme. But I

don’tthinkIcanmakeittoColumbus,Vancouver,andJapaninthenextthirty-sixhours.”“IthinkImightbeabletohelpyouguysout,”adeepvoicesaid.Wealljumpedandturnedaroundjustintimetoseeatall,male,gray-haired

avatar appear directly behind us. It was the Great and Powerful Og. OgdenMorrow’savatar.Andhedidn’tmaterializeslowly,thewayanavatarnormally

didwhenloggingintoachatroom.Hesimplypoppedintoexistence,asifhehadbeenthereallalongandhadonlynowdecidedtomakehimselfvisible.“Have any of you ever been to Oregon?” he said. “It’s lovely this time of

year.”

WeallstaredatOgdenMorrowinstunnedsilence.“Howdidyougetinhere?”Aechfinallyasked,oncehe’dmanagedtopickhis

jawupoffthefloor.“Thisisaprivatechatroom.”“Yes,Iknow,”Morrowsaid,lookingabitembarrassed.“I’mafraidI’vebeen

eavesdroppingon the fourofyou forquite some timenow.And Ihopeyou’llacceptmysincereapologiesforinvadingyourprivacy.Ididitwithonlythebestintentions,Ipromiseyou.”“With all due respect, sir,” Art3mis said. “You didn’t answer his question.

Howdidyougainaccess to thischatroomwithoutaninvitation?Andwithoutanyofusevenknowingyouwerehere?”“Forgive me,” he said. “I can see why this might concern you. But you

needn’tworry.Myavatarhasmanyuniquepowers,includingtheabilitytoenterprivate chat rooms uninvited.” As Morrow spoke, he walked over to one ofAech’s bookshelves and began to browse through some vintage role-playinggamesupplements.“PriortotheoriginallaunchoftheOASIS,whenJimandIcreatedouravatars,wegaveourselvessuperuseraccesstotheentiresimulation.Inadditiontobeingimmortalandinvincible,ouravatarscouldgoprettymuchanywhereanddoprettymuchanything.NowthatAnorakisgone,myavataristheonlyonewiththesepowers.”Heturnedtofacethefourofus.“Nooneelsehastheabilitytoeavesdroponyou.EspeciallynottheSixers.OASISchat-roomencryption protocols are rock solid, I assure you.” He chuckled lightly. “Mypresenceherenotwithstanding.”“Heknockedoverthatstackofcomicbooks!”IsaidtoAech.“Afterourfirst

meetinginhere,remember?Itoldyouitwasn’tasoftwareglitch.”Ognoddedandgaveusaguiltyshrug.“Thatwasme.Icanbeprettyclumsy

attimes.”Therewasanotherbriefsilence,duringwhichIfinallyworkedupthecourage

tospeaktoMorrowdirectly.“Mr.Morrow—,”Ibegan.“Please,”Morrowsaid,raisingahand.“CallmeOg.”

“All right,” I said, laughingnervously.Evenunder thecircumstances, Iwascompletely starstruck. I couldn’t believe I was actually addressing the OgdenMorrow. “Og.Would youmind telling uswhy you’ve been eavesdropping onus?”“BecauseIwanttohelpyou,”hereplied.“AndfromwhatIheardamoment

ago,itsoundsasthoughyoucouldallusemyhelp.”Weallexchangednervouslooks, and Og seemed to detect our skepticism. “Please, don’t misunderstandme,”hecontinued.“I’mnotgoing togiveyouanyclues,orprovideyouwithanyinformationtohelpyoureachtheegg.Thatwouldruinallthefun,wouldn’tit?”Hewalkedbackovertous,andhistoneturnedserious.“Justbeforehedied,IpromisedJimthat,inhisabsence,IwoulddoeverythingIcouldtoprotectthespiritandintegrityofhiscontest.That’swhyI’mhere.”“But,sir—Og,”Isaid.“Inyourautobiography,youwrotethatyouandJames

Hallidaydidn’tspeakduringthelasttenyearsofhislife.”Morrow gave me an amused smile. “Come on, kid,” he said. “You can’t

believeeverythingyouread.”Helaughed.“Actually,thatstatementwasmostlytrue.Ididn’tspeakwithJimforthelastdecadeofhislife.Notuntiljustafewweeksbeforehedied.”Hepaused,asifcallingupthememory.“Atthetime,Ididn’tevenknowhewassick.Hejustcalledmeupoutoftheblue,andwemetinaprivatechatroom,muchlikethisone.Thenhetoldmeabouthisillness,thecontest,andwhathehadplanned.Hewasworriedtheremightstillbeafewbugsin the gates. Or that complications might arise after he was gone that wouldpreventthecontestfromproceedingashe’dintended.”“YoumeanliketheSixers?”Shotoasked.“Exactly,”Ogsaid.“LiketheSixers.SoJimaskedmetomonitorthecontest,

and to intervene if it ever became necessary.”He scratched his beard. “To behonest, Ididn’treallywant theresponsibility.But itwas thedyingwishofmyoldest friend, so I agreed. And for the past six years, I’ve watched from thesidelines.And even though theSixers have done everything to stack the oddsagainst you, somehow you four have persevered. But now, after hearing youdescribeyourcurrentcircumstances,Ithinkthetimehasfinallycomeformetotakeaction,tomaintaintheintegrityofJim’sgame.”Art3mis,Shoto,Aech,andIallexchangedlooksofamazement,asifseeking

reassurancefromoneanotherthatthiswasallreallyhappening.“Iwant tooffer the fourofyousanctuaryatmyhomehere inOregon,”Og

said.“Fromhere,you’llbeabletoexecuteyourplanandcompleteyourquestinsafety, without having to worry about Sixer agents tracking you down andkickinginyourdoor.Icanprovideeachofyouwithastate-of-the-artimmersionrig,afiber-opticconnectiontotheOASIS,andanythingelseyoumightneed.”

Anotherstunnedsilence.“Thankyou,sir!”Ifinallyblurtedout,resistingtheurgetofalltomykneesandbowrepeatedly.“It’stheleastIcando.”“That’s an incredibly kind offer, Mr. Morrow,” Shoto said. “But I live in

Japan.”“I know, Shoto,”Og said. “I’ve already chartered a private jet for you. It’s

waitingat theOsakaairport. Ifyousendmeyourcurrent location, I’llarrangeforalimotopickyouupandtakeyoutotherunway.”Shotowas speechless for a second; then he bowed low. “Arigato,Morrow-

san.”“Don’tmentionit,kid.”HeturnedtoArt3mis.“Younglady,Iunderstandthat

you’re currently at the Vancouver airport? I’ve made travel arrangements foryou, aswell.A driver is currentlywaiting for you in the baggage claim area,holding a signwith thename ‘Benatar’ on it.He’ll takeyou to theplane I’vecharteredforyou.”For a second I thoughtArt3mismight bow too. But then she ran over and

threw her arms aroundOg in a bear hug. “Thank you,Og,” she said. “Thankyou,thankyou,thankyou!”“You’rewelcome,dear,”hesaidwithanembarrassedlaugh.Whenshefinally

releasedhim, he turned toAech andme. “Aech, I understand that youhave avehicle, and thatyou’recurrently in thevicinityofPittsburgh?”Aechnodded.“Ifyouwouldn’tminddrivingtoColumbustoretrieveyourfriendParzivalhere,I’llarrangeforajet topickupbothofyouattheColumbusairport.Thatis, ifyouboysdon’tmindsharingaride?”“No,thatsoundsperfect,”Aechsaid,glancingatmesideways.“Thanks,Og.”“Yes,thankyou,”Irepeated.“You’realifesaver.”“Ihopeso.”Hegavemeagrimsmile,thenturnedtoaddresseveryone.“Safe

travels,allofyou.I’llseeyousoon.”Andthenhevanished, justasquicklyashe’dappeared.“Well,thisblows,”Isaid,turningtoAech.“Art3misandShotogetlimos,and

Ihavetobumaridetotheairportwithyouruglyass?Insomeshit-heapRV?”“It’s not a shit-heap,”Aech said, laughing. “And you’rewelcome to take a

cab,asshole.”“Thisisgonnabeinteresting,”Isaid,stealingaquickglanceatArt3mis.“The

fourofusarefinallygoingtomeetinperson.”“Itwillbeanhonor,”Shotosaid.“I’mlookingforwardtoit.”“Yeah,”Art3missaid,lockingeyeswithme.“Ican’twait.”

After Shoto andArt3mis logged out, I gaveAechmy current location. “It’s aPlugfranchise.Callmewhenyougethere,andI’llmeetyououtfront.”“Willdo,”hesaid.“Listen,Ishouldwarnyou.Idon’tlookanythinglikemy

avatar.”“So?Whodoes?I’mnotreallythistall.Ormuscular.Andmynoseisslightly

bigger—”“I’mjustwarningyou.Meetingmemightbe…kindofashockforyou.”“OK.Thenwhydon’tyoujusttellmewhatyoulooklikerightnow?”“I’malreadyon the road,”he said, ignoringmyquestion. “I’ll seeyou in a

fewhours,OK?”“OK.Drivesafe,amigo.”DespitewhatI’dsaidtoAech,knowingthatIwasabouttomeethiminperson

afterall theseyearsmadememorenervousthanIwantedtoadmit.But itwasnothing compared to the apprehension I already felt building insideme at theprospect of meeting Art3mis once we reached Oregon. Trying to picture theactualmoment filledmewith amixture of excitement and abject terror.Whatwouldshebelikeinperson?WasthephotoI’dseeninherfileactuallyafake?DidIstillhaveanykindofchancewithheratall?With a Herculean effort, I managed to put her out of mymind by forcing

myselftofocusontheapproachingbattle.AssoonasIloggedoutofAech’sBasement,Isentoutmy“CalltoArms”e-

mailasaglobalannouncementtoeveryOASISuser.Knowingmostofthosee-mails wouldn’t get through the spam filters, I also posted it to every guntermessage board.Then Imade a short vidcap recording ofmy avatar reading italoudandsetittorunonacontinuouslooponmyPOVchannel.Thewordspreadquickly.Withinanhour,ourplan toassaultCastleAnorak

was the top story on every single newsfeed, accompanied by headlines likeGUNTERS DECLARE ALL-OUT WAR ON THE SIXERS and TOP GUNTERS ACCUSE IOI OFKIDNAPPINGANDMURDERandISTHEHUNTFORHALLIDAY’SEGGFINALLYOVER?SomeofthenewsfeedswerealreadyrunningthevideoclipofDaito’smurder

I’d sent them, along with the text of Sorrento’s memo, citing an anonymoussourceforboth.Sofar,IOIhaddeclinedtocommentoneither.Bynow,SorrentowouldknowI’dsomehowgainedaccesstotheSixers’privatedatabase.IwishedIcould seehis facewhenhe learnedhowI’ddone it—that I’d spentanentireweekjustafewfloorsbelowhisoffice.Ispentthenextfewhoursoutfittingmyavatarandpreparingmyselfmentally

forwhatwastocome.WhenIcouldnolongerkeepmyeyesopen,IdecidedtocatchaquicknapwhileIwaitedforAechtoarrive.Idisabledtheauto-log-out

featureonmyaccount, thendriftedoff in thehapticchairwithmynew jacketdraped over me as a blanket, clutching in one hand the pistol I’d purchasedearlierthatday.

I woke with a start sometime later to the sound of Aech’s ringtone. He wascalling to letmeknowhe’darrivedoutside. Iclimbedoutof the rig,collectedmy things, and returned the rentedgear at the front desk.When I steppedoutintothestreet,Isawthatnighthadfallen.Thefrozenairhitmelikeabucketoficewater.Aech’stinyRVwasjustafewyardsaway,parkedatthecurb.Itwasamocha-

colored SunRider, about twenty feet long, and at least two decades old. ApatchworkofsolarcellscoveredtheRV’sroofandmostofitsbody,alongwithaliberalamountofrust.Thewindowsweretintedblack,soIcouldn’tseeinside.Itookadeepbreathandcrossedtheslush-coveredsidewalk,feelingastrange

combinationofdreadandexcitement.AsIapproachedtheRV,adoornear thecenter of the right side slid open and a short stepladder extended to thepavement.Iclimbedinsideandthedoorslidshutbehindme.Ifoundmyselfinthe RV’s tiny kitchen. It was dark except for the running lights set into thecarpetedfloor.Tomyleft,Isawasmallbedroomareaattheback,wedgedintoaloftabovetheRV’sbatterycompartment.Iturnedandwalkedslowlyacrossthedarkenedkitchen,thenpulledbackthebeadedcurtaincoveringthedoorwaytothecab.A heavysetAfricanAmerican girl sat in theRV’s driver seat, clutching the

wheeltightlyandstaringstraightahead.Shewasaboutmyage,withshort,kinkyhairandchocolate-coloredskinthatappearediridescent in thesoftglowof thedashboardindicators.ShewaswearingavintageRush2112concertT-shirt,andthenumberswerewarpedaroundherlargebosom.Shealsohadonfadedblackjeans and a pair of studded combat boots. She appeared to be shivering, eventhoughitwasniceandwarminthecab.I stood there for a moment, staring at her in silence, waiting for her to

acknowledgemypresence.Eventually,sheturnedandsmiledatme,anditwasasmileIrecognizedimmediately.ThatCheshiregrinI’dseenthousandsoftimesbefore, on the face of Aech’s avatar, during the countless nights we’d spenttogether in the OASIS, telling bad jokes and watching bad movies. And hersmilewasn’ttheonlythingIfoundfamiliar.Ialsorecognizedthesetofhereyesand the linesofher face.Therewasnodoubt inmymind.Theyoungwomansittinginfrontofmewasmybestfriend,Aech.Awaveofemotionwashedoverme.Shockgavewaytoasenseofbetrayal.

How could he—she—deceive me all these years? I felt my face flush withembarrassmentasIrememberedalloftheadolescentintimaciesI’dsharedwithAech.ApersonI’dtrustedimplicitly.SomeoneIthoughtIknew.WhenIdidn’tsayanything,hereyesdroppedtoherbootsandstayedonthem.

Isatdownheavilyinthepassengerseat,stillstaringoverather,stillunsureofwhat to say. She kept stealing glances atme; then her eyes would dart awaynervously.Shewasstilltrembling.WhateverangerorbetrayalIfeltquicklyevaporated.Icouldn’thelpmyself.Istartedtolaugh.Therewasnomeannessinit,andI

knewshecould tell that, becauseher shoulders relaxedabit and she letout arelieved sigh. Then she started to laugh too. Half laughing and half crying, Ithought.“Hey,Aech,”Isaid,onceourlaughtersubsided.“Howgoesit?”“It’s goinggood,Z,” she said. “All sunshine and rainbows.”Her voicewas

familiar too. Just not quite as deep as itwas online.All this time, she’d beenusingsoftwaretodisguiseit.“Well,”Isaid.“Lookatus.Hereweare.”“Yeah,”Aechreplied.“Hereweare.”Anuncomfortablesilencedescended.Ihesitatedamoment,unsureofwhatto

do.Then I followedmy instincts,crossed thesmall spacebetweenus,andputmy arms around her. “It’s good to see you, old friend,” I said. “Thanks forcomingtogetme.”Shereturnedthehug.“It’sgoodtoseeyoutoo,”shesaid.AndIcouldtellshe

meantit.Iletgoofherandsteppedback.“Christ,Aech,”Isaid,smiling.“Iknewyou

werehidingsomething.ButIneverimagined…”“What?”shesaid,abitdefensively.“Youneverimaginedwhat?”“That the famousAech, renowned gunter and themost feared and ruthless

arenacombatantintheentireOASIS,was,inreality,a…”“Afatblackchick?”“Iwasgoingtosay‘youngAfricanAmericanwoman.’”Herexpressiondarkened.“There’sareasonInevertoldyou,youknow.”“AndI’msureit’sagoodone,”Isaid.“Butitreallydoesn’tmatter.”“Itdoesn’t?”“Ofcoursenot.You’remybestfriend,Aech.Myonlyfriend,tobehonest.”“Well,Istillwanttoexplain.”“OK.Butcanitwaituntilwe’reintheair?”Isaid.“We’vegotalongwayto

travel.AndI’llfeelalotsaferoncewe’veleftthiscityinthedust.”“We’reonourway,amigo,”shesaid,puttingtheRVingear.

Aech followedOg’s directions to a private hangar near theColumbus airport,whereasmallluxuryjetwaswaitingforus.OghadarrangedforAech’sRVtobe stored in a nearbyhangar, but it had beenher home formanyyears, and Icouldtellshewasnervousaboutleavingitbehind.Webothstaredatthejetinwonderasweapproachedit.I’dseenairplanesin

theskybefore,ofcourse,butI’dneverseenoneupclose.Travelingbyjetwassomethingonlyrichpeoplecouldafford.ThatOgcouldafford tocharter threedifferent jets to retrieve uswithout batting an eyelashwas a testament to justhowinsanelywealthyhemustbe.Thejetwascompletelyautomated,sotherewasnocrewonboard.Wewere

allalone.Theplacidvoiceoftheautopilotwelcomedusaboard,thentoldustostrapinandpreparefortakeoff.Wewereupintheairwithinminutes.Itwas the first timeeitherofushadever flown,andwebothspent the first

hour of the flight staring out the windows, overwhelmed by the view, as wehurtledwestward through the atmosphere at ten thousand feet, on ourway toOregon.Finally,oncesomeof thenoveltyhadwornoff, Icould tell thatAechwasreadytotalk.“OK,Aech,”Isaid.“Tellmeyourstory.”SheflashedherCheshiregrinandtookadeepbreath.“Thewholethingwas

originallymymother’s idea,” she said.Then she launched into an abbreviatedversionofherlifestory.Herrealname,shesaid,wasHelenHarris,andshewasonly a fewmonths older than I was. She’d grown up in Atlanta, raised by asinglemother.HerfatherhaddiedinAfghanistanwhenshewasstillababy.Hermother, Marie, worked from home, in an online data-processing center. InMarie’sopinion, theOASISwas thebest thing thathadeverhappenedtobothwomenandpeopleofcolor.Fromtheverystart,Mariehadusedawhitemaleavatartoconductallofheronlinebusiness,becauseofthemarkeddifferenceitmadeinhowshewastreatedandtheopportunitiesshewasgiven.WhenAechfirstloggedintotheOASIS,shefollowedhermother’sadviceand

createdaCaucasianmaleavatar. “H”hadbeenhermother’snickname forhersince she was a baby, so she’d decided to use it as the name of her onlinepersona.Afewyearslater,whenshestartedattendingschoolonline,hermotherliedaboutherdaughter’sraceandgenderontheapplication.Aechwasrequiredto provide a photo for her school profile, so she’d submitted a photorealisticrenderingofhermaleavatar’sface,whichshe’dmodeledafterherownfeatures.Aechtoldmethatshehadn’tseenorspokentohermothersinceleavinghome

onhereighteenthbirthday.ThatwasthedayAechhadfinallycomeout toher

motherabouthersexuality.Atfirst,hermotherrefusedtobelieveshewasgay.ButthenHelenrevealedthatshe’dbeendatingagirlshemetonlinefornearlyayear.AsAech explained all of this, I could tell shewas studyingmy reaction. I

wasn’t all that surprised, really. Over the past few years, Aech and I haddiscussedourmutualadmirationfor thefemaleformonnumerousoccasions.IwasactuallyrelievedtoknowthatAechhadn’tbeendeceivingme,atleastnotonthataccount.“How did your mother react when she found out you had a girlfriend?” I

asked.“Well,itturnsoutthatmymotherhadherownsetofdeep-seatedprejudices,”

Aechsaid.“Shekickedmeoutofthehouseandsaidsheneverwantedtoseemeagain. I was homeless for a little while. I lived in a series of shelters. Buteventually I earned enough competing in theOASIS arena leagues to buymyRV,andI’vebeen living in iteversince. Iusuallyonlystopmovingwhen theRV’sbatteriesneedtorecharge.”Aswecontinuedto talk,goingthroughthemotionsofgettingtoknoweach

other,Irealizedthatwealreadydidknoweachother,aswellasanytwopeoplecould. We’d known each other for years, in the most intimate way possible.We’dconnectedonapurelymentallevel.Iunderstoodher,trustedher,andlovedherasadearfriend.Noneofthathadchanged,orcouldbechangedbyanythingasinconsequentialashergender,orskincolor,orsexualorientation.Therestoftheflightseemedtogobyinablink.AechandIquicklyfellinto

our old familiar rhythm, and before long it was like we were back in theBasement, trash-talkingeachotheroveragameofQuakeorJoust.AnyfearsIhadabouttheresiliencyofourfriendshipintherealworldhadvanishedbythetimeourjettoucheddownonOg’sprivaterunwayinOregon.We’d been flying west across the country, just a few hours ahead of the

sunrise,soitwasstilldarkwhenwelanded.AechandIbothfrozeinourtracksaswesteppedofftheplane,gazinginwonderatthescenearoundus.Eveninthedimmoonlight,theviewwasbreathtaking.Thedark,toweringsilhouettesoftheWallowa Mountains surrounded us on all sides. Rows of blue runway lightsstretchedoutalongthevalleyfloorbehindus,delineatingOg’sprivate landingstrip.Directlyahead,asteepcobblestonestaircaseattheedgeoftherunwayledup to a grand, floodlitmansion constructed on a plateau near the base of themountainrange.Severalwaterfallswerevisible in thedistance,spillingoff thepeaksbeyondMorrow’smansion.“It looks just like Rivendell,” Aech said, taking the words right out ofmy

mouth.

Inodded.“ItlooksexactlylikeRivendellintheLordoftheRingsmovies,”Isaid,stillstaringupat it inawe.“Og’swifewasabigTolkienfan,remember?Hebuiltthisplaceforher.”We heard an electric hum behind us as the jet’s staircase retracted and the

hatchclosed.Theenginespoweredbackupandthejetrotated,preparingtotakeoffagain.Westoodandwatcheditlaunchbackupintotheclear,starrysky.Thenweturnedandbegantomount thestaircase leadingup to thehouse.Whenwefinallyreachedthetop,OgdenMorrowwastherewaitingforus.“Welcome,myfriends!”Ogbellowed,extendingbothhishands ingreeting.

Hewasdressedinaplaidbathrobeandbunnyslippers.“Welcometomyhome!”“Thankyou,sir,”Aechsaid.“Thanksforinvitingushere.”“Ah,youmustbeAech,”hereplied,claspingherhand.Ifhewassurprisedby

herappearance,hedidn’tshowit.“Irecognizeyourvoice.”Hegaveherawink,followedbyabearhug.Thenheturnedandhuggedme,too.“AndyoumustbeWade—Imean,Parzival!Welcome!Welcome! It’s truly anhonor tomeetyouboth!”“The honor is ours,” I said. “We really can’t thank you enough for helping

us.”“You’vealreadythankedmeenough,sostopit!”hesaid.Heturnedandledus

across an expansive green lawn, toward his enormous house. “I can’t tell youhowgood it is tohavevisitors.Sad tosay, I’vebeenallaloneheresinceKiradied.”Hewassilentamoment; thenhe laughed.“Aloneexcept formycooks,maids,andgardeners,ofcourse.Buttheyall liveheretoo,sotheydon’treallycountasvisitors.”NeitherInorAechknewhowtoreply,sowejustkeptsmilingandnodding.

Eventually, I worked up the courage to speak. “Have the others arrived yet?ShotoandArt3mis?”Somethingabout thewayI said“Art3mis”madeMorrowchuckle, longand

loud.Afterafewseconds,IrealizedAechwaslaughingatmetoo.“What?”Isaid.“What’ssofunny?”“Yes,” Og said, grinning. “Art3mis arrived first, several hours ago, and

Shoto’splanegothereaboutthirtyminutesbeforeyouarrived.”“Arewegoingtomeet themnow?”Iasked,doinganextremelypoorjobof

hidingmyapprehension.Ogshookhishead.“Art3misfeltthatmeetingyoutworightnowwouldbean

unnecessarydistraction.Shewantedtowaituntilafterthe‘bigevent.’AndShotoseemedtoagree.”Hestudiedmeforamoment.“Itprobablyisforthebest,youknow.You’veallgotabigdayaheadofyou.”Inodded,feelingastrangecombinationofreliefanddisappointment.

“Wherearetheynow?”Aechasked.Ograisedafisttriumphantlyintheair.“They’realreadyloggedin,preparing

foryourassaultontheSixers!”Hisvoiceechoedacrossthegroundsandoffthehighstonewallsofhismansion.“Followme!Thehourdrawsnear!”Og’senthusiasmpulledmeback into themoment, and I felt anervousknot

forminthepitofmystomach.Wefollowedourbathrobedbenefactoracrosstheexpansivemoonlit courtyard.Aswe approached themain house,we passed asmallgated-ingardenfilledwithflowers.Thegardenwasinastrangelocation,andIcouldn’tfigureoutitspurposeuntilIsawthelargetombstoneatitscenter.Then I realized it must be Kira Morrow’s grave. But even in the brightmoonlight, it was still too dark for me to make out the inscription on theheadstone.Og led us through themansion’s lavish front entrance. The lights were off

inside,butinsteadofturningthemon,Morrowtookanhonest-to-Godtorchoffthewallandusedittoilluminateourway.Evenindimtorchlight,thegrandeurof the place amazed me. Giant tapestries and a huge collection of fantasyartwork covered thewalls,while gargoyle statues and suits of armor lined thehallways.AswefollowedOg,Iworkedupenoughcouragetospeaktohim.“Listen,I

knowthisprobablyisn’tthetime,”Isaid.“ButI’mahugefanofyourwork.Igrew up playing Halcydonia Interactive’s educational games. They taught mehowtoread,write,domath,solvepuzzles…”Iproceededtorambleonaswewalked,ravingaboutallofmyfavoriteHalcydoniatitlesandgeekingoutonOginaclassicallyembarrassingfashion.Aech must have thought I was brown-nosing, because she snickered

throughoutmystammeringmonologue,butOgwasverycoolabout it.“That’swonderful to hear,” he said, seeminggenuinely pleased. “Mywife and Iwereveryproudofthosegames.I’msogladyouhavefondmemoriesofthem.”Weroundedacorner,andAechandIbothfrozebeforetheentranceofagiant

room filledwith row after row of old videogames.We both knew itmust beJames Halliday’s classic videogame collection—the collection he’d willed toMorrowafterhisdeath.Ogglancedaroundandsawuslingeringbytheentrance,thenhurriedbacktoretrieveus.“Ipromisetogiveyouatourlater,whenalltheexcitementisover,”Ogsaid,

hisbreathingabitlabored.Hewasmovingquicklyforamanhisageandsize.He led us down a spiral stone staircase to an elevator that carried us downseveralmorefloorstoOg’sbasement.Thedecorherewasmuchmoremodern.WefollowedOgthroughamazeofcarpetedhallwaysuntilwereachedarowofsevencirculardoorways,eachnumbered.

“And here we are!”Morrow said, gesturing with the torch. “These aremyOASISimmersionbays.They’realltop-of-the-lineHabashawrigs.OIR-Ninety-fourhundreds.”“Ninety-fourhundreds?Nokidding?”Aechletoutalowwhistle.“Wicked.”“Wherearetheothers?”Iasked,lookingaroundnervously.“Art3misandShotoarealreadyinbaystwoandthree,”hesaid.“Bayoneis

mine.Youtwocantakeyourpickoftheothers.”Istaredatthedoors,wonderingwhichoneArt3miswasbehind.Ogmotionedtotheendofthehall.“You’llfindhapticsuitsofallsizesinthe

dressingrooms.Now,getyourselvessuitedandbooted!”He smiledwidewhenAech and I emerged from the dressing rooms a few

minuteslater,eachdressedinbrand-newhapticsuitsandgloves.“Excellent!”Ogsaid.“Nowgrababayandlogin.Theclockisticking!”Aechturnedtofaceme.Icouldtellshewantedtosaysomething,butwords

seemedtofailher.Afterafewsecondsshestuckoutherglovedhand.Itookit.“Goodluck,Aech,”Isaid.“Goodluck,Z,”shereplied.ThensheturnedtoOgandsaid,“Thanksagain,

Og.”Beforehecould respond, she stoodonher tiptoesandkissedhimon thecheek. Then she disappeared through the door to bay four and it hissed shutbehindher.Oggrinnedafterher,thenturnedtofaceme.“Thewholeworldisrootingfor

thefourofyou.Trynottoletthemdown.”“We’lldoourbest.”“Iknowyouwill.”HeofferedmehishandandIshookit.Itookasteptowardmyimmersionbay,thenturnedback.“Og,canIaskyou

onequestion?”Isaid.He raised an eyebrow. “If you’re going to ask me what’s inside the Third

Gate, I have no idea,” he said. “And even if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Youshouldknowthat.…”I shookmyhead. “No, that’snot it. Iwanted to askwhat itwas that ended

yourfriendshipwithHalliday.InalltheresearchI’vedone,I’veneverbeenabletofindout.Whathappened?”Morrowstudiedmeforamoment.He’dbeenaskedthisquestionininterviews

manytimesbeforeandhadalwaysignoredit. Idon’tknowwhyhedecidedtotellme.Maybehe’dbeenwaitingalltheseyearstotellsomeone.“It was because of Kira.Mywife.” He paused amoment, then cleared his

throatandcontinued.“Likeme,he’dbeeninlovewithhersincehighschool.Ofcourse, he never had the courage to act on it. So she never knewhowhe feltabouther.AndneitherdidI.Hedidn’ttellmeaboutituntilthelasttimeIspoke

tohim,rightbeforehedied.Eventhen,itwashardforhimtocommunicatewithme.Jimwasneververygoodwithpeople,orwithexpressinghisemotions.”Inoddedsilentlyandwaitedforhimtocontinue.“EvenafterKiraandIgotengaged,IthinkJimstillharboredsomefantasyof

stealingherawayfromme.Butoncewegotmarried,heabandonedthatnotion.Hetoldmehe’dstoppedspeakingtomebecauseoftheoverwhelmingjealousyhefelt.Kirawastheonlywomanheeverloved.”Morrow’svoicecaughtinhisthroat. “I canunderstandwhy Jim felt thatway.Kirawasvery special. Itwasimpossiblenot tofall in lovewithher.”Hesmiledatme.“Youknowwhat it’sliketomeetsomeonelikethat,don’tyou?”“Ido,”Isaid.Then,whenIrealizedhehadnomoretosayonthesubject,I

said,“Thankyou,Mr.Morrow.Thankyoufortellingmeallofthat.”“You’requitewelcome,”hesaid.Thenhewalkedovertohisimmersionbay,

and thedoor irisedopen. Inside, I could see thathis righadbeenmodified toinclude several strange components, including an OASIS consolemodified tolook like a vintage Commodore 64. He glanced back at me. “Good luck,Parzival.You’regoingtoneedit.”“Whatareyougoingtodo?”Iasked.“Duringthefight?”“Sitbackandwatch,ofcourse!”hesaid.“Thislookstobethemostepicbattle

invideogamehistory.”Hegrinnedatmeonelasttime,thensteppedthroughthedoorandwasgone,leavingmealoneinthedimlylithallway.IspentafewminutesthinkingabouteverythingMorrowhadtoldme.ThenI

walkedovertomyownimmersionbayandsteppedinside.Itwasa small spherical room.Agleaminghaptic chairwas suspendedona

jointed hydraulic arm attached to the ceiling. There was no omnidirectionaltreadmill,because theroomitselfserved that function.Whileyouwere loggedin,youcouldwalkor run inanydirectionand thespherewould rotatearoundandbeneathyou,preventingyoufromevertouchingthewall.Itwaslikebeinginsideagianthamsterball.I climbed into the chair and felt it adjust to fit the contours ofmybody.A

robotic arm extended from the chair and slipped a brand-newOculance visoronto my face. It, too, adjusted so that it fit perfectly. The visor scanned myretinas and the systempromptedme to speakmy newpass phrase: “ReindeerFlotillaSetecAstronomy.”Itookadeepbreathasthesystemloggedmein.

Iwasreadytorock.Myavatarwasbuffedtotheeyeballsandarmedtotheteeth.Iwaspackingas

manymagicitemsandasmuchfirepowerasIcouldsqueezeintomyinventory.Everythingwasinplace.Ourplanwasinmotion.Itwastimetogo.Ienteredmystronghold’shangarandpressedabuttononthewalltoopenthe

launchdoors.Theyslidback,slowlyrevealing the launch tunnel leadingup toFalco’s surface. I walked to the end of the runway, past my X-wing and theVonnegut.Iwouldn’tbetakingeitherofthemtoday.Theywerebothgoodships,with formidable weapons and defenses, but neither craft would offer muchprotection in the epic shitstorm that was about to unfold on Chthonia.Fortunately,Inowhadanewmodeoftransportation.I removed the twelve-inchLeopardon robot frommyavatar’s inventoryand

set it downgentlyon the runway.Shortlybefore I’dbeenarrestedby IOI, I’dtakensome time toexamine the toyLeopardonrobotandascertain itspowers.AsIsuspected,therobotwasactuallyapowerfulmagicalitem.Ithadn’ttakenme long to figure out the command word required to activate it. Just like inToei’s original Supaidaman TV series, you summoned the robot simply byshoutingitsname.Ididthisnow,takingtheprecautionofbackingawayfromtherobotagooddistancebeforeshouting“Leopardon!”Iheardapiercingshriekthatsoundedlikerendingmetal.Asecondlater,the

once-tinyrobothadgrowntoaheightofalmostahundredmeters.Thetopoftherobot’sheadnowprotrudedthroughtheopenlaunchdoorsinthehangarceiling.Igazedupatthetoweringrobot,admiringtheattentiontodetailHallidayhad

put into coding it. Every feature of the original Japanese mech had been re-created, including itsgiantgleamingswordandspiderweb-embossedshield.Atiny access doorwas set into the robot’smassive left foot, and it opened as Iapproached, revealing a small elevator inside. It carried me up through theinterior of the robot’s leg and torso, to the cockpit located inside its armoredchest.AsIseatedmyselfinthecaptain’schair,Ispottedasilvercontrolbracelet

inaclearcaseonthewall.I tookitoutandsnappeditontomyavatar’swrist.ThebraceletwouldallowmetousevoicecommandstocontroltherobotwhileIwasoutsideit.Severalrowsofbuttonsweresetintothecommandconsoleinfrontofme,all

labeledinJapanese.Ipressedoneofthemandtheenginesroaredtolife.ThenIhit the throttle and the twin rocketboosters ineachof the robot’s feet ignited,launchingitupward,outofmystrongholdandintoFalco’sstar-filledsky.InoticedthatHallidayhadaddedanoldeight-tracktapeplayertothecockpit

controlpanel.Therewasalsoarackofeight-tracktapesmountedovermyrightshoulder. I grabbed one and slapped it into the deck.Dirty Deeds Done DirtCheapbyAC/DCbegantoblastoutoftherobot’sinternalandexternalspeakers,solouditmademychairvibrate.Assoonastherobotwasclearofmyhangar,Ishouted“ChangeMarveller!”

into the control bracelet (the voice commands appeared to work only if youshoutedthem).Therobot’s legs,arms,andheadfoldedinwardandlockedintonew positions, transforming the robot into a starship known as theMarveller.Once the transformationwascomplete, I leftFalco’sorbitandsetacourse fortheneareststargate.WhenIemergedfromthestargateinSectorTen,myradarscreenlituplikea

Christmas tree. Thousands of space vehicles of every make and model werecrawlingthroughthestarryblacknessaroundme,everythingfromsingle-seatercraft to giant moon-sized freighters. I’d never seen so many starships in oneplace. A steady stream of them poured out of the stargate, while othersconvergedontheareafromeverydirectioninthesky.Alloftheshipsgraduallyfunneled together, forming a long, haphazard caravan of vessels stretchingtowardChthonia, a tinyblue-brownorb floating in thedistance. It looked likeeverysingleperson in theOASISwasheaded forCastleAnorak. I feltabriefsurgeofexhilaration, even though IknewArt3mis’swarningmight stillprovetrue—therewasachancemostoftheseavatarswerehereonlytowatchtheshowandhadnointentionofactuallyriskingtheirlivestofighttheSixers.Art3mis.Afterallthistime,shewasnowinaroomjustafewfeetawayfrom

me.Wewouldactuallybemeetinginpersonassoonasthisfightwasover.Thethought should have terrifiedme, but instead I felt a zen calmwashoverme:Whatever was going to happen down on Chthonia, everything I’d risked hadalreadybeenworthit.ItransformedtheMarvellerbackintoitsrobotconfiguration,thenjoinedthe

longparadeofspacecraft.Myshipstoodoutinthevastarrayofvessels,sinceitwas theonlygiant robot.Acloudof smaller shipsquickly formedaroundme,pilotedbycuriousavatarszooming in foracloser lookatLeopardon. Ihad to

mute my comlink because so many different people were trying to hail me,askingwhothehellIwasandwhereI’dpickedupsuchasweetride.As the planet Chthonia grew larger inmy cockpitwindow, the density and

number of ships aroundme seemed to increase exponentially.When I finallyenteredtheplanet’satmosphereandbegantodescendtowardthesurface,itwaslike flying through a swarmofmetal insects.When I reached the area aroundCastle Anorak, I had a hard time believingmy eyes. A concentrated, pulsingmassofshipsandavatarscoveredthegroundandfilledtheair.ItwaslikesomeotherworldlyWoodstock.Shoulder-to-shoulder avatars stretched to thehorizonin all directions. Thousands more floated and flew through the air above,dodgingtheconstantinfluxofships.AndatthecenterofallthisinsanitystoodCastle Anorak itself, an onyx jewel gleaming beneath the Sixers’ transparentspherical shield. Every few seconds some hapless avatar or ship wouldinadvertentlyflyorcareenintotheshieldandgetvaporized,likeaflyhittingabugzapper.WhenIgotcloser,Ispottedanopenpatchofgrounddirectlyinfrontof the

castle’sentrance, justoutsidetheshieldwall.Threegiantfiguresstoodsidebyside at the center of the clearing. The crowd around them was continuouslysurging inwardand then recedingasavatarspushedbackagainsteachother totry tokeeparespectfuldistancefromAech,Art3mis,andShoto,whoeachsatinsidetheirowngleaminggiantrobot.ThiswasmyfirstopportunitytoseewhichrobotsAech,Art3mis,andShoto

hadselectedafterclearing theSecondGate,and it tookmeamoment toplacethe towering female robot Art3mis was piloting. It was black and chrome incolor, with elaborate boomerang-shaped headgear and symmetrical redbreastplatesthatmadeitlooklikeafemaleversionofTranzorZ.ThenIrealizeditwas the femaleversionofTranzorZ,anobscurecharacter from theoriginalMazingerZanimeseriesknownasMinervaX.Aech had selected an RX-78 Gundam mech from the originalMobile Suit

Gundamanimeseries,oneofhislongtimefavorites.(EventhoughInowknewAechwasactuallyafemaleinreallife,heravatarwasstillmale,soIdecidedtocontinuetorefertohimassuch.)Shoto stood several heads taller than both of them, concealed inside the

cockpitofRaideen, theenormous red-and-blue robot from themid-’70sBraveRaideenanimeseries.Themassivemechclutchedhissignaturegoldenbowinonehandandhadalargespikedshieldstrappedtotheother.AroarsweptthroughthecrowdasIflewinlowovertheshieldandrocketed

to a halt above the others. I rotated my orientation so that Leopardon wasupright,thencuttheenginesanddroppedtheremainingdistancetothesurface.

Myrobot landedononeknee, and the impact shook theground.As I stood itupright,theseaofonlookersbegantochantmyavatar’sname.Par-zi-val!Par-zi-val!Asthechantingfadedbacktoadullroar,Iturnedtofacemycompanions.“Nice entrance, ya big show-off,” Art3mis said, using our private comlink

channel.“Didyoushowuplateonpurpose?”“Notmyfault,Iswear,”Isaid,tryingtoplayitcool.“Therewasalonglineat

thestargate.”Aech nodded his mech’s massive head. “Every transport terminal on the

planethasbeenspittingoutavatarssince lastnight,”hesaid,motioning to thescene around uswith hisGundam’smassive hand. “This is unreal. I’ve neverseensomanyshipsoravatarsinoneplace.”“Me neither,”Art3mis said. “I’m surprised theGSS servers can handle the

load,withsomuchactivityinonesector.Buttheredoesn’tseemtobeanylagatall.”Itookalonglookattheseaofavatarsaroundus,thenshiftedmyattentionto

thecastle.Thousandsof flyingavatarsandshipscontinued tobuzzaround theshield,occasionallyfiringbullets,lasers,missiles,andotherprojectilesatit,allof which impacted harmlessly on the surface. Inside the sphere, thousands ofpower-armoredSixeravatarsstoodinsilentformation,completelyencirclingthecastle.Interspersedthroughtheirrankswererowsofhovertanksandgunships.In any other setting, the Sixer armywould have appeared formidable.Maybeevenunstoppable.Butinthefaceoftheendlessmobthatnowsurroundedthem,theSixerslookedwoefullyoutnumberedandoutmatched.“So,Parzival,”saidShoto,turninghisrobot’shugeheadinmydirection.“It’s

showtime,oldfriend.Ifthatspheredoesn’tcomedownlikeyoupromised,thisisgoingtobeprettyembarrassing.”“‘Hanwillhavethatshielddown,’”Aechquoted.“‘We’vegottogivehim

moretime!’”I laughed, then usedmy robot’s right hand to tap the back of its leftwrist,

indicatingthetime.“Aechisright.It’sstillsixminutestonoon.”The end ofmy sentencewas drowned out by another roar from the crowd.

Directly in front of us, inside the sphere, the massive front doors of CastleAnorakhadjustswungopen,andnowasingleSixeravatarwasemergingfromwithin.Sorrento.Grinning at the din of booing and hissing that greeted his arrival, Sorrento

wavedhishandat theSixer troops stationeddirectly in frontof thecastleandthey immediately scattered, clearing a large open space. Sorrento stepped

forwardintoit,positioninghimselfdirectlyoppositeus,justafewdozenyardsaway,ontheothersideoftheshield.TenotherSixeravatarsemergedfromthecastleandpositionedthemselvesbehindSorrento,eachofthemstandingagooddistanceapart.“Ihaveabadfeelingaboutthis,”Art3mismutteredintoherheadset.“Yeah,”Aechwhispered.“Metoo.”Sorrentosurveyedthescene,thensmiledupatus.Whenhespoke,hisvoice

was amplified through powerful speakersmounted on the Sixer gunships andhovertanks,allowinghimtobeheardbyeveryoneinthearea.Andsincetherewere cameras and reporters fromeverymajornewsfeedoutlet present, I knewhiswordswerebeingbroadcasttotheentireworld.“WelcometoCastleAnorak,”Sorrentosaid.“We’vebeenexpectingyou.”He

madeasweepinggesture,indicatingtheangrymobthatsurroundedhim.“Imustsay,weareabitsurprisedsomanyofyoushowedupheretoday.Bynowitmustbeobvious,toeventhemostignorantamongyou,thatnothingcangetpastourshield.”His proclamationwasmetwith a deafening roar of shouted threats, insults,

andcolorfulprofanity.Iwaitedamoment,thenraisedbothofmyrobot’shands,callingforquiet.Onceasemblanceofsilencehaddescended,Igotonthepubliccomm channel,which had the same effect as turning on a giant PA system. Idialedmyheadsetvolumedowntokillthefeedback,thensaid,“You’rewrong,Sorrento.We’recomingin.Atnoon.Allofus.”Aroarofapprovaleruptedfromtheassembledgunters.Sorrentodidn’tbother

waitingforittodiedown.“You’rewelcometotry,”hesaid,stillgrinning.Thenheproducedanitemfromhisinventoryandplaceditonthegroundinfrontofhim.Izoomedinforacloserlookandfeltthemusclesinmyjawtighten.Itwasa toy robot. A bipedal dinosaur with armor-plated skin and a pair of largecannons mounted on its shoulder blades. I recognized it immediately, fromseveralturn-of-the-centuryJapanesemonsterflicks.ItwasMechagodzilla.“Kiryu!” Sorrento shouted, his voice still amplified. At the sound of the

commandword,histinyrobotinstantlygrewinsizeuntilitstoodalmostastallasCastleAnorakitself,twicetheheightofthe“giant”robotsthatAech,Shoto,Art3mis,andIpiloted.Themechanicallizard’sarmoredheadalmosttouchedthetopofthesphericalshield.An awestruck silence fell over the crowd, followed by a rumble of fearful

recognitionfromthethousandsofgunterspresent.Theyallrecognizedthisgiantmetalbehemoth.Andtheyallknewitwasnearlyindestructible.Sorrentoenteredthemechthroughanaccessdoorinoneofitsmassiveheels.

Afewsecondslater,thebeast’seyesbegantoglowbrightyellow.Thenitthrewbackitshead,openeditsjaggedmaw,andletoutapiercingmetallicroar.On cue, the ten Sixer avatars standing behind Sorrento pulled out their toy

robots and activated them, too. Five of them had the huge robotic lions thatcould formVoltron.The other five had giantmechs fromRobotech andNeonGenesisEvangelion.“Ohshit,”IheardArt3misandAechwhisperinunison.“Come on!” Sorrento shouted defiantly. His challenge echoed across the

crowdedlandscape.Manyoftheguntersonthefrontlinestookaninvoluntarystepbackward.A

fewothersturnedandranfortheirlives.ButAech,Shoto,Art3mis,andIheldourground.Icheckedthetimeonmydisplay.Lessthanaminutetogonow.Ipresseda

button on Leopardon’s control panel, and my giant robot drew its gleamingsword.

I didn’twitness it firsthand, but I can tell youwith some certainty that this iswhathappenednext:TheSixershaderecteda largearmoredbunkerbehindCastleAnorak, filled

withpalletsofweaponsandbattlegearthathadbeenteleportedinbytheSixersbefore they activated their shield.Therewas also a long rackof thirtySupplyDroids,whichhadbeeninstalledalongthebunker’seasternwall.Duetoalackof imagination on the part of the Supply Droids’ original designer, they alllookedexactlyliketherobotJohnnyFivefromthe1986filmShortCircuit.TheSixersused thesedroidsprimarily asgofers, to runerrandsand fill equipmentandammorequisitionsforthetroopsstationedoutside.Atexactlyoneminutetonoon,oneoftheSupplyDroids,designationSD-03,

powereditselfonanddisengagedfromitschargingdock.Thenitrolledforwardonitstanktreads,acrossthebunkerfloor,tothearmorycageatitsoppositeend.Tworoboticsentriesstoodoutsidethearmory’sentrance.SD-03transmitteditsequipment requisitionorder to them—anorder that Imyself had submittedonthe Sixer intranet two days earlier. The sentries verified the requisition andstepped aside, permitting SD-03 to roll into the cage. It continued past longstorage racks that held a wide array of weaponry: magic swords, shields,powered armor suits, plasma rifles, railguns, and countless other weapons.Finally, the droid rolled to a stop. The rack in front of it held five largeoctahedron-shapeddevices,eachroughly thesizeofasoccerball.Eachdevicehad a small control panel set into one of its eight sides, along with a serial

number.SD-03foundtheserialnumberthatmatchedtheoneonmyrequisitionform.Then,followingasetofinstructionsI’dprogrammedintoit,thelittledroidused its clawlike index finger to enter a series of commands on the device’scontrol panel. When it finished, a small light above the keypad turned fromgreen to red. Then SD-03 lifted the octahedron in its arms. As it exited thearmory,oneantimatterfriction-inductionbombwassubtractedfromtheSixers’computerizedinventory.SD-03thenrolledoutofthebunkerandbegantoclimbaseriesoframpsand

staircasestheSixershadbuiltontothecastle’souterwallstoprovideaccess tothe upper levels. Along the way, the droid rolled through several securitycheckpoints.Eachtime,roboticsentriesscanneditssecurityclearanceandfoundthat thedroidwasallowedtogoanywhere itdamnwellpleased.WhenSD-03reachedCastleAnorak’suppermost level, it rolledoutontoa largeobservationplatformlocatedthere.Atthispoint,SD-03mayhavedrawnafewcuriouslooksfromthesquadron

ofeliteSixeravatarsguardingtheplatform.Ihavenowayofknowing.Buteveniftheguardssomehowanticipatedwhatwasabouttohappenandopenedfireonthelittledroid,itwastoolateforthemtostopitnow.SD-03continuedrollingdirectlytothecenteroftheroof,whereahigh-level

Sixer wizard sat holding the Orb of Osuvox—the artifact generating thesphericalshieldaroundthecastle.Then,executing the lastof the instructions I’dprogrammed into it twodays

earlier,SD-03liftedtheantimatterfriction-inductionbombupoveritsheadanddetonatedit.Theexplosionvaporizedthesupplydroid,alongwithalltheavatarsstationed

on the platform, including the Sixer wizard who was operating the Orb ofOsuvox.Themomenthedied,theartifactdeactivatedandfelltothenow-emptyplatform.

Abrilliantflashoflightaccompaniedthedetonation,momentarilyblindingme.Whenitreceded,myeyesfocusedbackonthecastle.Theshieldwasdown.Now,nothingseparatedthemightySixerandgunterarmiesbutopengroundandemptyspace.For about five seconds, nothing happened. Time seemed to stop and

everythingwassilentandstill.Thenallhellbrokeloose.Sittingaloneinthecockpitofmymech,Iletoutasilentcheer.Incredibly,my

planhadworked.But I hadno time to celebrate, because Iwasnow standingsmack-dabinthemiddleofthelargestbattleinthehistoryoftheOASIS.Idon’tknowwhatIexpectedtohappennext.I’dhopedmaybeatenthofthe

gunterspresentwouldjoinourassaultontheSixers.Butinsecondsitwasclearthateverysingleoneofthemintendedtojointhefight.Afiercebattlecryrosefromtheseaofavatarsaroundusandtheyallsurgedforward,convergingontheSixer army from every direction. Their total lack of hesitation astoundedme,becauseitwasobviousmanyofthemwererushingtowardcertaindeath.Iwatchedinamazementasthetwomightyforcesclashedallaroundme,on

the ground and in the sky. It was a chaotic, breathtaking scene, like severalbeehives andwasp nests had been smashed together and then dropped onto agiantanthill.Art3mis,Aech,Shoto,andIstoodatthecenterofitall.Atfirst,Ididn’teven

move for fear of crushing thewaveof gunters swarming around and overmyrobot’sfeet.Sorrento,however,didn’twaitforanyonetogetoutofhisway.Hecrushed several dozen avatars (including a few of his own troops) under hismech’s titanic feet as he lumbered toward us, each of his footfalls creating asmallcraterintherockysurface.“Uh-oh,” I heard Shoto mutter as his mech assumed a defensive posture.

“Herehecomes.”The Sixer mechs were already taking an immense amount of fire from all

directions.Sorrentowasgettinghitmorethananyone,becausehismechwasthe

biggesttargetonthebattlefield,andnogunterwitharangedweaponcouldseemtoresisttakingashotathim.Theintensebarrageofprojectiles,fireballs,magicmissiles, and laser bolts quickly destroyed or disabled the other Sixer mechs(whoneverevengotachancetoformVoltron).ButSorrento’srobotsomehowremained undamaged. Every projectile that hit him seemed to ricochetharmlessly off his mech’s armored body. Dozens of spacecraft swooped andbuzzedaroundhim,pepperinghismechwith rocket fire,but their attacksalsoseemedtohavelittleeffect.“Itison!”Aechshoutedintohiscomlink.“ItisonlikeRedDawn!”Andwith

that,heunleashedallofhisGundam’sconsiderablefirepoweratSorrento.Atthesamemoment, Shoto began firingRaideen’s bow,whileArt3mis’smech firedsomesortofredenergybeamthatappearedtooriginatefromMinervaX’sgiantmetalbreasts.Notwantingtobeleftout,IfiredLeopardon’sArcTurnweapon,agoldboomerangthatlaunchedfromthemech’sforehead.Allofourattacksweredirecthits,butArt3mis’sbeamweaponwastheonly

onethatseemedtodoanyrealdamagetoSorrento.Sheblastedachunkoutofthemetal lizard’s right shoulderbladeanddisabled thecannonmounted there.ButSorrentodidn’tpauseinhisapproach.Ashecontinuedtocloseinonus,theMechagodzilla’s eyes began to glow a bright blue. Then Sorrento opened itsmouth,andacascadingboltofbluelightningshotoutwardfromthemech’sopenmaw. The beam struck the ground directly in front of us, then cut a deepsmokingfurrowintheearthasitcontinuedtosweepforward,vaporizingeveryavatar and ship in its path.All four of usmanaged to leap out of theway bylaunchingour robots skyward, though I nearly took a direct hit.The lightningweapon shut down a second later, butSorrento continued to trudge forward. Inoticed that his mech’s eyes were no longer glowing blue. Apparently, hislightningweaponhadtorecharge.“Ithinkwe’vereachedthefinalboss,”Aechjokedoverthecomlink.Thefour

of us were now spread out and circling above Sorrento, making ourselvesmovingtargets.“Screwthis,guys,”Isaid.“Idon’tthinkwecandestroythatthing.”“Astuteobservation,Z,”Art3missaid.“Gotanybrightideas?”Ithoughtforasecond.“HowaboutIdistracthimwhilethethreeofyoucut

aroundandheadforthecastleentrance?”“Soundslikeaplan,”Shotoreplied.Butinsteadofheadingforthecastle,he

bankedandflewstraightatSorrento,closing thedistancebetween themin thespaceofafewseconds.“Go!”heshoutedintohiscomlink.“Thisbastardisallmine!”Aech cut across Sorrento’s right flank and Art3mis banked left, while I

rocketedupwardandoverhim.Belowme,IcouldseeShotofacingoffagainstSorrento, and thedifference in the sizeof theirmechswasdisturbing.Shoto’srobot looked like an action figure next to Sorrento’s massive metal dragon.Nevertheless,ShotocuthisthrustersanddroppedtothegrounddirectlyinfrontoftheMechagodzilla.“Hurry,”IheardAechshout.“Thecastleentranceiswideopen!”Frommy vantage point in the sky above, I could see that the Sixer forces

surroundingthecastlewerealreadybeingoverrunbytheendlessmobofenemyavatars.TheSixers’lineswerebroken,andhundredsofgunterswerestreamingpastthemnow,runninguptotheopencastleentranceonlytodiscoveroncetheyreached it that they couldn’t cross the threshold because they didn’t possess acopyoftheCrystalKey.Aechswungarounddirectlyinfrontofme.Stillahundredfeetofftheground,

he popped the hatch of his Gundam’s cockpit and leapt out, whispering therobot’scommandwordinthesameinstant.Asthegiantrobotshrankbacktoitsoriginal size,he snatched itoutof theair and stowed it inhis inventory.Nowflyingby somemagicalmeans,Aech’s avatar swoopeddown,passedover thebottleneckof gunters clustered at the castle entrance, anddisappeared throughthe open double doors. A second later, Art3mis executed a similarmaneuver,stowing her own mech in midair and then flying into the castle right behindAech.IdroppedLeopardonintoasharpdiveandpreparedtofollowthem.“Shoto,”Ishoutedintomycomm.“We’regoinginsidenow!Let’sgo!”“Go ahead,”Shoto replied. “I’ll be right behind you.”But something about

the toneofhisvoicebotheredme,and Ipulledoutofmydiveandswungmymech back around. Shoto was hovering above Sorrento, near his right flank.Sorrento slowly turned hismech around and began to stomp back toward thecastle. I could see now that his mech’s weakness was its lack of speed. TheMechagodzilla’s slow movement and attacks counterbalanced its seeminginvulnerability.“Shoto!”Ishouted.“Whatareyouwaitingfor?Let’sgo!”“Goonwithoutme,”Shotosaid.“Iowethissonofabitchsomepayback.”BeforeIcouldreply,ShotodoveatSorrento,swingingagiantswordineach

of hismech’s hands.Theblades both cut intoSorrento’s right side, creating ashowerofsparks,andtomysurprise,theyactuallydidsomedamage.WhenthesmokeclearedIsawthattheMechagodzilla’srightarmnowhunglimp.Itwasnearlyseveredattheelbow.“Looks like you’ll be wiping with your left hand now, Sorrento!” Shoto

shouted triumphantly. Then he fired Raideen’s boosters and headed in my

direction,towardthecastle.ButSorrentohadalreadyswiveledhismech’sheadaroundandwasnowtakingabeadonShotowithtwoglowingblueeyes.“Shoto!”Ishouted.“Lookout!”Butmyvoicewasdrownedoutbythesound

ofthelightningweaponfiringoutofthemetaldragon’smouth.ItnailedShoto’smechdirectlyinthecenterofitsback.Therobotexplodedinanorangeballoffire.I heard a brief screech of static on the comm channel. I called out Shoto’s

name again, but he didn’t reply. Then a message flashed on my display,informingmethatShoto’snamehadjustdisappearedfromtheScoreboard.Hewasdead.This realization momentarily stunned me, which was unfortunate, because

Sorrento’s lightning weapon was still firing, moving in a fast sweeping arc,cuttingacrosstheground,thendiagonallyupthecastlewall,towardme.Ifinallyreacted—toolate—andSorrentonailedmymechinthelowertorso,justasplitsecondbeforethebeamcutoff.I looked down to discover that the bottom half of my robot had just been

blastedaway.Everywarningindicatorinmycockpitstartedtoflashasmymechbegantofalloutoftheskyintwosmoking,burninghalves.Somehow,Ihadthepresenceofmindtoreachupandyanktheejectionhandle

abovemyseat.Thecockpitcanopypoppedoff,andIjumpedfreeofthefallingmechasplitsecondbeforeitimpactedonthecastlesteps,killingseveraldozenoftheavatarscrowdedthere.Ifiredmyavatar’sjetbootsjustbeforeIhittheground,thenquicklyadjusted

my immersion rig’s control setup, because I was now controlling my avatarinsteadofagiantrobot.Imanagedtolandonmyfeetinfrontofthecastle,justclear of Leopardon’s flaming wreckage. A second after I landed, a shadowspilledoverme,andIturnedaroundtoseeSorrento’smechblottingoutthesky.Heraiseditsmassiveleftfoot,preparingtocrushme.I took three running steps and jumped, firingmy jet boots inmidleap. The

thrust threwme clear just as theMechagodzilla’s huge clawed foot slammeddown,formingacrater in thespotwhereI’dstoodasecondbefore.Themetalbeast letoutanotherearsplittingshriek,followedbyhollow,boominglaughter.Sorrento’slaughter.Icutmyjet-boot thrustersandtuckedmyavatar intoaball.Ihit theground

rolling, tumbled forward, thencameuponmy feet. I squintedupat themetallizard’shead.Itseyesweren’tglowingagain—notyet.IcouldfiremyjetbootsagainnowandmakeitinsidethecastlebeforeSorrentocouldfireonmeagain.Hewouldn’tbeabletofollowmeinside—notwithoutgettingoutofhisoversizemech.

I could hearArt3mis andAech shouting atme onmy comlink. Theywerealreadyinside,standinginfrontofthegate,waitingforme.All Ihad todowas fly into thecastle and join them.The threeofuscould

openandenterthegatebeforeSorrentocaughtupwithus.Iwassureofit.But I didn’tmove. Instead, I took out theBetaCapsule and held the small

metalcylinderinthepalmofmyavatar’shand.Sorrento had tried to kill me. And in the process, he’dmurderedmy aunt,

alongwithseveralofmyneighbors,includingsweetoldMrs.Gilmore,whohadnever hurt a soul.He’d also hadDaito killed, and even though I’d nevermethim,Daitohadbeenmyfriend.AndnowSorrentohadjustkilledShoto’savatar,robbinghimofhischanceto

entertheThirdGate.Sorrentodidn’tdeservehispowerorhisposition.Whathedeserved, I decided in that moment, was public humiliation and defeat. Hedeservedtohavehisasskickedwhilethewholeworldwatched.IheldtheBetaCapsulehighovermyheadandpresseditsactivationbutton.Therewasablindingflashoflight,andtheskyturnedcrimsonasmyavatar

changed,growingandmorphingintoagiganticred-and-silver-skinnedhumanoidalienwithglowingegg-shapedeyes,astrangefinnedhead,andaglowinglightembeddedinthecenterofmychest.Forthenextthreeminutes,IwasUltraman.TheMechagodzillastoppedshriekingandthrashing.Itsgazehadbeenpointed

downattheground,wheremyavatarhadstoodasecondearlier.Nowitsheadslowlytiltedup, takingin thesizeof itsnewopponent,untilourglowingeyesfinallymet.Inowstoodface-to-facewithSorrento’smech,matchingitsheightandsizealmostexactly.Sorrento’smechtookseveralawkwardstepsbackward.Itseyesbegantoglow

again.I crouched slightly and struck an offensive pose, noticing that a timer now

appearedinthecornerofmydisplay,countingdownfromthreeminutes.2:59.2:58.2:57.BelowthetimertherewasamenulistingUltraman’svariousenergyattacksin

Japanese.IquicklyselectedSPECIUMRAYandthenheldmyarmsupinfrontofme, one horizontal and the other vertical, forming a cross.Apulsing beamofwhiteenergyshotoutofmyforearms,strikingtheMechagodzillainitschestandknocking it backward. Thrown off balance, Sorrento lost control and trippedover his ownmammoth feet.Hismech tumbled to the ground, landing on itsside.A cheer went up from the thousands of avatars watching from the chaotic

battlefieldaroundus.Ilaunchedmyselfintotheairandflewhalfakilometerstraightupward.Then

Idroppedbackdown,feetfirst,aimingmyheelsdirectlyattheMechagodzilla’scurvedspine.Whenmyfeethit, Iheardsomething inside themetalbeastsnapundermycrushingweight.Smokebegantopouroutofitsmouth,andtheblueglowinitseyesquicklydissipated.I executed a backflip and landed behind the supine mech in a crouch. Its

single functioning arm flailed wildly while its tail and legs thrashed about.Sorrentoappearedtobestrugglingwiththecontrolsinanefforttogetthebeastbackonitsfeet.I selectedYATSUAKI KOHRIN frommyweaponmenu:Ultra-Slice. A glowing

circular sawbladeofelectric-blueenergyappeared inmy righthand, spinningfiercely. I hurled it at Sorrento, releasing it with a snap of my wrist, like aFrisbee.ItwhirredthroughtheairandstrucktheMechagodzillainitsstomach.Theenergybladecutintoitsmetalskinasifitweretofu,slicingthemechintotwo halves. Just before the entire machine exploded, the head detached andblastedawayfromtheneck.Sorrentohadejected.Butsincethemechwaslyingflat, the head shot out on a trajectory parallel to the ground. Sorrento quicklyadjusted for this, and the rockets sprouting from the head began to tilt itskyward.Beforeitcouldgetveryfar,Icrossedmyarmsagainandfiredanotherspeciumray,nailingtheretreatingheadlikeaclaypigeon.Itdisintegratedinanimmenselysatisfyingexplosion.Thecrowdwentwild.IcheckedtheScoreboardandconfirmedthatSorrento’semployeenumberhad

vanished.Hisavatarwasdead. Icouldn’t take toomuchsatisfactionfromthis,though,becauseIknewhewasprobablyalreadykickingoneofhisunderlingsoutofahapticchairsohecouldtakecontrolofanewavatar.The counter on my display had only fifteen seconds remaining when I

deactivated theBetaCapsule.My avatar instantly shrankback to normal size,andmyappearancereturnedtonormal.ThenIspunaround,poweredonmyjetboots,andflewintothecastle.WhenIreachedtheoppositeendofthehugefoyer,IfoundAechandArt3mis

standing in front of the crystal door, waiting for me. The smoking, bloodiedbodies of over a dozen recently slain Sixer avatars lay scattered on the stoneflooraroundthem,slowlyfadingoutofexistence.Apparently,therehadbeenabriefanddecisiveskirmishandI’djustmissedit.“Nofair,”Isaid,cuttingmyjetbootsanddroppingtothefloorbesideAech.

“Youcouldhavesavedatleastoneofthemforme.”Art3misdidn’treply.Shejustgavemethefinger.“CongratsonwastingSorrento,”Aech said. “Itwasanepic throwdown, for

sure.Butyou’restillacompleteidiot.Youknowthat,right?”

“Yeah.”Ishrugged.“Iknow.”“You’re such a selfish asshole!” Art3mis shouted. “What if you’d gotten

yourselfkilledtoo?”“Ididn’t, though.Did I?” I said, steppingaroundher toexamine thecrystal

door.“Sochilloutandlet’sopenthisthing.”I examined the keyhole in the center of the door, then looked at thewords

printeddirectlyaboveit,etchedinto thedoor’sfacetedsurface.Charity.Hope.Faith.I took out my copy of the Crystal Key and held it up. Aech and Art3mis

followedsuitandhelduptheirkeystoo.Nothinghappened.Weallexchangedconcernedlooks.Thenanideaoccurredtome,andIcleared

my throat. “ ‘Three is amagic number,’ ” I said, reciting the first line of theSchoolhouseRock!song.AssoonasIspokethewords,thecrystaldoorbegantoglow,andtwoadditionalkeyholesappeared,oneithersideofthefirst.“Thatdid it!”Aechwhispered. “Holy shit. I can’tbelieve this.We’re really

here.StandinginfrontoftheThirdGate.”Art3misnodded.“Finally.”Iinsertedmykeyinthecenterkeyhole.Aechinsertedhisintothekeyholeon

theleft,andArt3misplacedhersinthekeyholeontheright.“Clockwise?”Art3missaid.“Onthecountofthree?”Aech and I nodded. Art3mis counted to three, and we turned our keys in

unison.Therewasabriefflashofbluelight,duringwhichallofourkeysandthecrystaldooritselfvanished.AndthentheThirdGatestoodopeninfrontofus,acrystaldoorwayleadingintoaspinningwhirlpoolofstars.“Wow,”IheardArt3miswhisperbesideme.“Herewego.”As the three of us stepped forward, preparing to enter the gate, I heard an

earsplittingboom.Itsoundedliketheentireuniversewascrackinginhalf.Andthenwealldied.

Whenyouravatargetskilled,yourscreendoesn’tfadetoblackrightaway.Instead, your point of view automatically shifts to a third-person perspective,treatingyoutoabriefout-of-bodyreplayofyouravatar’sfinalfate.A split second afterweheard the thunderousboom,myperspective shifted,

andIfoundmyselflookingatourthreeavatars,standingtherefrozeninfrontoftheopengate.Thenanincineratingwhitelightfilledtheworld,accompaniedbyanearsplittingwall of sound. Itwaswhat I’d alwayspicturedbeing fried in anuclearblastwouldbelike.For a brief moment, I saw our avatars’ skeletons suspended inside the

transparentoutlinesofourmotionlessbodies.Thenmyavatar’shit-pointcounterdroppedtozero.Theblastwavearrivedasecondlater,disintegratingeverythinginitspath—

our avatars, the floor, thewalls, the castle itself, and the thousands of avatarsgathered around it. Everything was turned to a fine, atomized dust that hungsuspendedintheairforasecondbeforeslowlysettlingtoearth.Theentiresurfaceoftheplanethadbeenwipedclean.TheareaaroundCastle

Anorak,whichhadbeencrowdedwithwarringavatarsasplitsecondbefore,wasnow a desolate and barren wasteland. Everyone and everything had beendestroyed.Only theThirdGate remained,acrystaldoorway floating in theairabovethecraterwherethecastlehadstoodamomentbefore.MyinitialshockquicklyturnedtodreadasIrealizedwhathadjusthappened.TheSixershaddetonatedtheCataclyst.Itwastheonlyexplanation.Onlythatincrediblypowerfulartifactcouldhave

donethis.Notonlyhaditkilledeveryavatarinthesector,ithadevendestroyedCastleAnorak,afortressthat,untilnow,hadprovenitselftobeindestructible.I stared at the open gate, floating in the empty air, and waited for the

inevitable,finalmessagetoappearinthecenterofmydisplay,thewordsIkneweveryotheravatarinthesectormustbeseeingatthisverymoment:GAMEOVER.But when words finally did appear on my display, it was another message

entirely:CONGRATULATIONS!YOUHAVEANEXTRALIFE!Then, as I watched in amazement, my avatar reappeared, fading back into

existenceintheexactsamelocationwhereI’ddiedafewsecondsearlier.Iwasstandinginfrontoftheopengateagain.Butthegatewasnowfloatinginmidair,suspendedseveraldozenmetersabove theplanet’ssurface,over thecrater thathad been created by the destruction of the castle. As my avatar finishedmaterializing, I looked down and realized that the floor I’d been standing onearlier was now gone. So were my jet boots, and everything else I’d beencarrying.I seemed to hover inmidair for amoment, likeWile E. Coyote in the old

Roadrunnercartoons.ThenIplummetedstraightdown.Imadeadesperategrabfortheopengateinfrontofme,butitwaswelloutofreach.Ihitthegroundhardandlostathirdofmyhitpointsfromtheimpact.ThenI

slowlygottomyfeetandlookedaround.Iwasstandinginavastcube-shapedcrater—the space where the foundation and lower basement levels of CastleAnorak had stood. It was completely barren and eerily silent. There was norubble from the destroyed castle, and no wreckage from the thousands ofspaceshipsandaircraftthathadfilledtheskyafewmomentsago.Infact,therewas no sign at all of the grand battle that had just been fought here. TheCataclysthadvaporizedeverything.I lookeddownatmyavatarandsawthat IwasnowwearingablackT-shirt

andblue jeans, the default outfit that appeared on every newly created avatar.ThenIpulledupmystatsanditeminventory.MyavatarhadthesamelevelandabilityscoresI’dhadpreviously,butmyinventorywascompletelyemptyexceptfor one item—the quarter I’d obtained after playingmy perfect game of Pac-ManonArchaide.Once I’d placed the quarter inmy inventory, I hadn’t beenabletoremoveit,soI’dneverbeenabletohaveanydivinationoridentificationspells cast on it. I’d had noway of ascertaining the quarter’s true purpose orpowers.During the tumultuous events of the past fewmonths, I’d forgotten Ievenhadthedamnthing.But now I knew what the quarter was—a single-use artifact that gave my

avataranextra life.Until thatmoment, Ihadn’tevenknownsucha thingwaspossible. In the history of theOASIS, therewas no record of any avatar everacquiringanextralife.Iselectedthequarterinmyinventoryandtriedagaintoremoveit.Thistime,I

wasabletotakeitoutandholditinthepalmofmyavatar’shand.Nowthattheartifact’s sole power had been used, it no longer possessed any magicalproperties.Nowitwasjustaquarter.Ilookedstraightupatthecrystalgatefloatingtwentymetersaboveme.Itwas

stillsittingthere,wideopen.ButIhadnoideahowIwasgoingtogetuptheretoenter it. I hadno jet boots, no ship, andnomagic itemsormemorized spells.Nothing that would allow me to fly or levitate. And there wasn’t a singlestepladderinsight.ThereIwas,standingastone’sthrowfromtheThirdGate,butunabletoreach

it.“Hey,Z?”Iheardavoicesay.“Canyouhearme?”ItwasAech,buthervoicewasnolongeralteredtosoundmale.Icouldhear

her perfectly, as if she were talking tome via comlink. But that didn’t makesense,becausemyavatarnolongerhadacomlink.AndAech’savatarwasdead.“Whereareyou?”Iaskedtheemptyair.“I’mdead,likeeveryoneelse,”Aechsaid.“Everyonebutyou.”“ThenhowcanIhearyou?”“Ogpatchedallofusintoyouraudioandvideofeeds,”shesaid.“Sowecan

seewhatyouseeandhearwhatyouhear.”“Oh,”Isaid.“Isthatallrightwithyou,Parzival?”IheardOgask.“Ifitisn’t,justsayso.”I thoughtabout it foramoment. “No, it’s finewithme,” I said.“Shotoand

Art3misarelisteningintoo?”“Yes,”Shotosaid.“I’mhere.”“Yeah, we’re here, all right,” Art3mis said, and I could hear the barely

containedrageinhervoice.“Andwe’realldeadasdoornails.Thequestionis,whyaren’tyoudeadtoo,Parzival?”“Yeah,Z,”Aechsaid.“Weareabitcuriousaboutthat.Whathappened?”Itookoutthequarterandhelditupinfrontofmyeyes.“Iwasawardedthis

quarteronArchaideafewmonthsago,forplayingaperfectgameofPac-Man.Itwasanartifact,butIneverknewitspurpose.Notuntilnow.Turnsoutitgavemeanextralife.”Iheardonlysilenceforamoment;thenAechbegantolaugh.“Youluckyson

ofabitch!”shesaid.“Thenewsfeedsarereportingthateverysingleavatarinthesectorwasjustkilled.OverhalfthepopulationoftheOASIS.”“WasittheCataclyst?”Iasked.“Ithadtobe,”Art3missaid.“TheSixersmusthaveboughtitwhenitwentup

forauctionafewyearsago.Andthey’vebeensittingonitallthistime,waitingfortheperfectmomenttodetonateit.”“Buttheyjustkilledoffalloftheirowntroops,too,”Shotosaid.“Whywould

theydothat?”“Ithinkmostofthemwerealreadydead,”Art3missaid.“TheSixershadnochoice,”Isaid.“Itwastheonlywaytheycouldstopus.

We’d alreadyopened theThirdGate andwere about to step insidewhen theydetonated that thing—” I paused, realizing something. “How did they knowwe’dopenedit?Unless—”“They were watching us,” Aech said. “The Sixers probably had remote

surveillancecamerashiddenallaroundthegate.”“So they saw us open it,” Art3mis said. “Whichmeans they know how to

openitnowtoo.”“Whocares?”Shotointerjected.“Sorrento’savatarisdead.Andsoareallof

theotherSixers.”“Wrong,”Art3missaid.“Check theScoreboard.Therearestill twentySixer

avatars listed there,belowParzival.And their scores indicate thateverysingleoneofthemhasacopyoftheCrystalKey.”“Shit!”AechandShotosaidinunison.“TheSixersknewtheymighthavetodetonatetheCataclyst,”Isaid.“Sothey

musthavetakentheprecautionofmovingsomeoftheiravatarsoutsideofSectorTen. They were probably waiting in a gunship just across the sector border,whereitwassafe.”“You’reright,”Aechsaid.“WhichmeanstherearetwentymoreSixersheaded

yourwayrightnow,Z.Soyouneedtogetyourassmovingandgetinsidethatgate.Thisisprobablygoingtobeyouronlychancetoclearit.”Iheardherletoutadefeatedsigh.“It’soverforus.Sowe’reallrootingforyounow,amigo.Goodluck.”“Thanks,Aech.”“Gokouunoinorimasu,”Shotosaid.“Doyourbest.”“Iwill,”Isaid.ThenIwaitedforArt3mistogivemeherblessingtoo.“Goodluck,Parzival,”shesaidafteralongpause.“Aechisright,youknow.

You’re never going to get another shot at this. And neither will any othergunter.”Iheardhervoicecatch,asifshewerechokingbacktears.Thenshetookadeepbreathandsaid,“Don’tscrewthisup.”“Iwon’t,”Isaid.“Nopressure,right?”Iglancedbackupattheopengate,suspendedintheairaboveme,sofarout

ofreach.ThenIdroppedmygazeandbegantoscanthearea,desperatelytryingtofigureouthowIwasgoingtogetupthere.Somethingcaughtmyeye—justafew flickering pixels in the distance, near the opposite endof the crater. I rantowardthem.“Uh,nottobeabackseatdriveroranything,”Aechsaid.“Butwherethehell

areyougoing?”“Allofmyavatar’sitemsweredestroyedbytheCataclyst,”Isaid.“SonowI

havenowaytoflyupthereandreachthegate.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Aech sighed. “Man, the hits just keep oncoming!”AsIapproachedtheobjectinthedistance,itbecamegraduallyclearer.Itwas

the Beta Capsule, floating just a few centimeters above the ground, spinningclockwise. TheCataclyst had destroyed everything in the sector that could bedestroyed,butartifactswereindestructible.Justlikethegate.“It’stheBetaCapsule!”Shotoshouted.“Itmusthavebeenthrownoverhere

by theforceof theblast.Youcanuse it tobecomeUltramanandflyup to thegate!”Inodded,raisedthecapsuleovermyhead,thenpressedthebuttonontheside

toactivateit.Butnothinghappened.“Shit!”Imuttered,realizingwhy.“Itwon’twork.Itcanonlybeusedonceaday.”IstowedtheBetaCapsuleandstartedtoscan the ground around me. “There must be other artifacts scattered aroundhere,” I said. I began to run along the perimeter of the castle foundation, stillscanningtheground.“Wereanyofyouguyscarryingartifacts?Onethatwouldgivemetheabilitytofly?Orlevitate?Orteleport?”“No,”answeredShoto.“Ididn’thaveanyartifacts.”“MySwordoftheBa’Heerwasanartifact,”Aechsaid.“Butitwon’thelpyou

reachthegate.”“ButmyChuckswill,”Art3missaid.“Your‘Chucks’?”Irepeated.“Myshoes.BlackChuckTaylorAllStars.Theybestowtheirwearerwithboth

speedandflight.”“Great!Perfect!” I said. “Now I justhave to find them.” I continued to run

forward, eyes sweeping the ground. I foundAech’s sword aminute later andaddedittomyinventory,butittookmeanotherfiveminutesofsearchingbeforeIfoundArt3mis’smagicsneakers,nearthesouthendofthecrater.Iputthemon,and they adjusted to fitmy avatar’s feet perfectly. “I’ll get these back to you,Arty,”Isaid,justasIfinishedlacingthemup.“Promise.”“Youbetter,”shesaid.“Theyweremyfavorites.”Itookthreerunningsteps,leaptintotheair,andthenIwasflying.Iswooped

upandaround,thenturnedbacktowardthegate,aimingstraightforit.Butatthelastmoment,Ibankedtotheright,thenarcedbackaround.Istoppedtohoverinfrontoftheopengate.Thecrystaldoorwayhungintheairdirectlyahead,justafewyardsaway.ItremindedmeofthefloatingdoorintheopeningcreditsoftheoriginalTwilightZone.“Whatareyouwaiting for?”Aechshouted. “TheSixerscould showupany

minutenow!”“Iknow,”Isaid.“Butthere’ssomethingIneedtosaytoallofyoubeforeIgo

in.”“Well?”Art3missaid.“Spititout!Theclockisticking,fool!”“OK,OK!”Isaid.“IjustwantedtosaythatIknowhowthethreeofyoumust

feelrightnow.Itisn’tfair,thewaythishasplayedout.Weshouldallbeenteringthe gate together. Sobefore I go in, Iwant youguys to know something. If Ireachtheegg,I’mgoingtosplittheprizemoneyequallyamongthefourofus.”Stunnedsilence.“Hello?”Isaidafterafewseconds.“Didyouguyshearme?”“Areyouinsane?”Aechasked.“Whywouldyoudothat,Z?”“Becauseit’stheonlyhonorablethingtodo,”Isaid.“BecauseIneverwould

have gotten this far onmy own.Because all four of us deserve to seewhat’sinsidethatgateandfindouthowthegameends.AndbecauseIneedyourhelp.”“Couldyourepeatthatlastbit,please?”Art3misasked.“I need your help,” I said. “You guys are right. This is my only shot at

clearing theThirdGate.Therewon’t be any second chances, for anyone.TheSixerswillbeheresoon,andthey’llenter thegateassoonas theyarrive.SoIhavetoclearitbeforetheydo,onmyfirstattempt.Theoddsofmepullingthatoffwillincreasedrasticallyifthethreeofyouarebackingmeup.So…whatdoyousay?”“Count me in, Z,” Aech said. “I was planning to coach your dumb ass

anyway.”“Countmeintoo,”saidShoto.“I’vegotnothinglefttolose.”“Letmegetthisstraight,”Art3missaid.“Wehelpyouclearthegate,andin

return,youagreetosplittheprizemoneywithus?”“Wrong,”Isaid.“IfIwin,I’mgoingtosplittheprizemoneywithyouguys,

regardlessofwhetheryouhelpmeornot.Sohelpingmeisprobablyinyourbestinterest.”“Idon’tsupposewehavetimetogetthatinwriting?”Art3missaid.I thought for a moment, then accessed my POV channel’s control menu. I

initiatedalivebroadcast,soeveryonewatchingmychannel(myratingscountersaidIcurrentlyhadmorethantwohundredmillionviewers)couldhearwhatIwas about to say. “Greetings,” I said. “This is Wade Watts, also known asParzival.IwanttoletthewholeworldknowthatifandwhenIfindHalliday’sEasteregg,IherebyvowtosplitmywinningsequallywithArt3mis,Aech,andShoto.Crossmyheartandhopetodie.Gunter’shonor.Pinkyswear.Allofthatcrap.IfI’mlying,IshouldbeforeverbrandedasagutlessSixer-fellatingpunk.”AsIfinishedthebroadcast,IheardArt3missay,“Dude,areyounuts?Iwas

kidding!”“Oh,”Isaid.“Right.Iknewthat.”

I cracked my knuckles, then flew forward into the gate, and my avatarvanishedintothewhirlpoolofstars.

Ifoundmyselfstandinginavast,dark,emptyspace.Icouldn’tseethewallsorceiling,butthereappearedtobeafloor,becauseIwasstandingonsomething.Iwaitedafewseconds,unsureofwhattodo.Thenaboomingelectronicvoiceechoedthroughthevoid.Itsoundedasifitwerebeinggeneratedbyaprimitivespeechsynthesizer,likethoseusedinQ*BertandGorf.“Beatthehighscoreorbe destroyed!” the voice announced. A shaft of light appeared, shining downfromsomewherehighabove.There,infrontofme,atthebaseofthislongpillarof light, stood an old coin-operated arcade game. I recognized its distinctive,angularcabinetimmediately.Tempest.Atari.1980.Iclosedmyeyesanddroppedmyhead.“Crap,”Imuttered.“Thisisnotmy

bestgame,gang.”“Comeon,”IheardArt3miswhisper.“Youhad toknowTempestwasgoing

tofactorintotheThirdGatesomehow.Itwassoobvious!”“Ohreally?”Isaid.“Why?”“BecauseofthequoteonthelastpageoftheAlmanac,”shereplied.“‘Imust

uneasymake,lesttoolightwinningmaketheprizelight.’”“Iknow thequote,” Isaid,annoyed.“It’s fromShakespeare.But I figured it

wasjustHalliday’swayoflettingusknowhowdifficulthewasgoingtomaketheHunt.”“Itwas,”Art3mis said. “But itwas also a clue.That quotewas taken from

Shakespeare’sfinalplay,TheTempest.”“Shit!”Ihissed.“HowthehelldidImissthat?”“Inevermadethatconnectioneither,”Aechconfessed.“Bravo,Art3mis.”“The game Tempest also appears briefly in the music video for the song

‘Subdivisions’byRush,”sheadded.“OneofHalliday’sfavorites.Prettyhardtomiss.”“Whoa,”Shotosaid.“She’sgood.”“OK!”Ishouted.“Itshouldhavebeenobvious.Noneedtorubitin!”“Itakeityou’vehaven’thadmuchpracticeatthisgame,Z?”Aechsaid.

“Alittle,a long timeago,” Isaid.“Butnotnearlyenough.Lookat thehighscore.”Ipointedatthemonitor.Thehighscorewas728,329.TheinitialsnexttoitwereJDH—JamesDonovanHalliday.And,as I feared, thecreditcounteratthebottomofthescreenhadanumeraloneinfrontofit.“Yikes,”Aechsaid.“Onlyonecredit.JustlikeBlackTiger.”I remembered thenow-uselessextra lifequarter inmy inventoryand took it

out.ButwhenIdropped it into thecoinslot, it fell right through into thecoinreturn. I reacheddown to remove itandsawastickeron thecoinmechanism:TOKENSONLY.“Somuchfor that idea,”Isaid.“AndIdon’tseeatokenmachineanywhere

aroundhere.”“Lookslikeyouonlygetonegame,”Aechsaid.“Allornothing.”“Guys, Ihaven’tplayedTempest inyears,”Isaid.“I’mscrewed.There’sno

wayI’mgoingtobeatHalliday’shighscoreonmyfirstattempt.”“Youdon’thaveto,”Art3missaid.“Lookatthecopyrightyear.”Iglancedatthebottomofthescreen:©MCMLXXXATARI.“Nineteeneighty?”Aechsaid.“Howdoesthathelphim?”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Howdoesthathelpme?”“Thatmeans this is the very first version of Tempest,” Art3mis said. “The

version that shippedwith a bug in thegame code.WhenTempest first hit thearcades,kidsdiscoveredthatifyoudiedwithacertainscore,themachinewouldgiveyouabunchoffreecredits.”“Oh,”Isaid,somewhatashamed.“Ididn’tknowthat.”“Youwould,”Art3missaid,“ifyou’dresearchedthegameasmuchasIdid.”“Damn,girl,”Aechsaid.“You’vegotsomeseriousknowledge.”“Thanks,” she said. “It helps to be an obsessive-compulsive geek.With no

life.”Everyonelaughedatthat,exceptme.Iwasmuchtoonervous.“OK,Arty,”Isaid.“WhatdoIneedtodotogetthosefreegames?”“I’mlookingitupinmyquestjournalrightnow,”shesaid.Icouldhearpaper

rustling.Itsoundedlikeshewasflippingthroughthepagesofanactualbook.“Youjusthappentohaveahardcopyofyourjournalwithyou?”Iasked.“I’vealwayskeptmyjournallonghand,inspiralnotebooks,”shesaid.“Good

thing,too,sincemyOASISaccountandeverythinginitwasjusterased.”Moreflippingofpages.“Hereitis!First,youneedtorackupoveronehundredeightythousand points.Once you’ve done that,make sure you end the gamewith ascorewherethelasttwodigitsareohsix,eleven,ortwelve.Ifyoudothat,you’llgetfortyfreecredits.”“You’reabsolutelypositive?”“Positivelyabsolutely.”

“OK,”Isaid.“Heregoes.”Ibegantorunthroughmypregameritual.Stretching,crackingmyknuckles,

rollingmyheadandneckleftandright.“Christ, will you get on with it?” Aech said. “The suspense is killing me

here!”“Quiet!”Shotosaid.“Givethemansomeroomtobreathe,willyou?”Everyone remained silent while I finished psychingmyself up. “Here goes

nothing,”Isaid.ThenIhittheflashingPlayerOnebutton.Tempestusedold-schoolvectorgraphics,sothegame’simageswerecreated

fromglowingneonlinesdrawnagainstapitch-blackscreen.You’regivenatop-downviewofathree-dimensionaltunnel,andyouuseaspinningrotarydialtocontrola“shooter” that travelsaround the rimof the tunnel.Theobjectof thegame is to shoot the enemies crawling up out of the tunnel toward youwhiledodgingtheirfireandavoidingotherobstacles.Asyouproceedfromonelevelto thenext, thetunnels takeongraduallymorecomplexgeometricshapes,andthe number of enemies and obstacles crawling up toward you multipliesdrastically.HallidayhadputthisTempestmachineonTournamentsettings,soIcouldn’t

startthegameanyhigherthanlevelnine.Ittookmeaboutfifteenminutestogetmyscoreupabove180,000,andIlosttwolivesintheprocess.IwasevenrustierthanIthought.Whenmyscorehit189,412,Iintentionallyimpaledmyshooteronaspike,usingupmylastremaininglife.Thegamepromptedmetoentermyinitials,andInervouslytappedthemin:W-O-W.WhenIfinished,thegame’screditcounterjumpedfromzerouptoforty.Thesoundofmyfriends’wildcheersfilledmyears,nearlygivingmeaheart

attack.“Art3mis,you’reagenius,”Isaid,oncethenoisedieddown.“Iknow.”ItappedthePlayerOnebuttonagainandbeganasecondgame,nowfocused

onbeatingHalliday’shighscore.Istillfeltanxious,butconsiderablylessso.IfIdidn’tmanagetogetthehighscorethistime,Ihadthirty-ninemorechances.Duringabreakbetweenwaves,Art3misspokeup.“So,yourinitialsareW-O-

W?WhatdoestheOstandfor?”“Obtuse,”Isaid.Shelaughed.“No,seriously.”“Owen.”“Owen,”sherepeated.“WadeOwenWatts.That’snice.”Thenshefellsilent

againas thenextwavebegan. I finishedmysecondgamea fewminutes later,withascoreof219,584.Nothorrible,butafarcryfrommygoal.“Notbad,”Aechsaid.

“Yeah, but not that good, either,” Shoto observed. Then he seemed torememberthatIcouldhearhim.“Imean—muchbetter,Parzival.You’redoinggreat.”“Thanksforthevoteofconfidence,Shoto.”“Hey,checkthisout,”Art3missaid,readingfromherjournal.“Thecreatorof

Tempest,DaveTheurer,originallygottheideaforthegamefromanightmarehehad aboutmonsters crawlingupout of a hole in theground and chasing afterhim.” She laughed her little musical laugh, which I hadn’t heard in so long.“Isn’tthatcool,Z?”shesaid.“That is cool,” I replied. Somehow, just hearing her voice setme at ease. I

thinksheknewthis,andthatwaswhyshekepttalkingtome.Ifeltreenergized.IhitthePlayerOnebuttonagainandbeganmythirdgame.Theyallwatchedmeplayincompletesilence.Nearlyanhourlater,Ilostmy

lastman.Myfinalscorewas437,977.Assoonasthegameended,Aech’svoicecutin.“Badnews,amigo,”shesaid.“What?”“We were right. When the Cataclyst went off, the Sixers had a group of

avatarsinreserve,waitingjustoutsidethesector.Rightafterthedetonation,theyreenteredthesectorandheadedstraightforChthonia.They…”Hervoicetrailedoff.“Theywhat?”“Theyjustenteredthegate,aboutfiveminutesago,”Art3misanswered.“The

gate closed after youwent in, butwhen theSixers arrived, they used three oftheirownkeystoreopenit.”“YoumeantheSixersarealreadyinsidethegate?Rightnow?”“Eighteen of them,”Aech said. “When they stepped through the gate, each

one entered a stand-alone simulation. A separate instance of the gate. Alleighteen of them are playingTempest right now, just like you. Trying to beatHalliday’shighscore.Andallofthemusedtheexploittogetfortyfreecredits.Mostofthemaren’tdoingthatwell,butoneofthemhassomeseriousskill.WethinkSorrentoisprobablyoperatingthatavatar.Hejuststartedhissecondgame—”“Waitasecond!”Iinterrupted.“Howcanyoupossiblyknowallthis?”“Becausewe can see them,” Shoto said. “Everyone logged into theOASIS

rightnowcanseethem.Theycanseeyou,too.”“Whatthehellareyoutalkingabout?”“Themoment someone enters theThirdGate, a live vidfeed of their avatar

appears at the top of the Scoreboard,” Art3mis said. “Apparently, Hallidaywantedclearingthefinalgatetobeaspectatorsport.”

“Wait,”Isaid.“YoumeantotellmethattheentireworldhasbeenwatchingmeplayTempestforthepasthour?”“Correct,”Art3mis said. “And they’rewatching you stand there and jabber

backatusrightnowtoo.Sowatchwhatyousay.”“Whydidn’tyouguystellme?”Ishouted.“Wedidn’twanttomakeyounervous,”Aechsaid.“Ordistractyou.”“Oh,great!Perfect!Thankyou!”Iwasshouting,somewhathysterically.“Calmdown,Parzival,”Art3missaid.“Getyourheadbackinthegame.This

a racenow.ThereareeighteenSixeravatars rightbehindyou.Soyouneed tomakethisnextgamecount.Understand?”“Yeah,”Isaid,exhalingslowly.“Iunderstand.”Itookanotherdeepbreathand

pressedthePlayerOnebuttononceagain.Asusual,competitionbroughtoutthebestinme.Thistime,Imanagedtoslip

intothezone.Spinner,zapper,super-zapper,clearalevel,avoidthespikes.Myhands began towork the controlswithoutmy even having to think about it. Iforgot about what was at stake, and I forgot about the millions of peoplewatchingme.Ilostmyselfinthegame.I’dbeenplayingjustoveranhourandhadjustclearedlevel81whenIheard

another wild burst of cheering in my ears. “You did it, man!” I heard Shotoshout.Myeyesdarteduptothetopofthescreen.Myscorewas802,488.Ikeptplaying,instinctivelywantingtogetthehighestscorepossible.Butthen

IheardArt3mis loudlyclearher throat,andIrealizedtherewasnoneedtogoanyfurther.Infact,Iwasnowwastingvaluableseconds,burningawaywhateverlead I stillhadon theSixers. Iquicklydepletedmy twoextra lives,andGAMEOVERflashedonthescreen.Ienteredmyinitialsagain,andtheyappearedatthetopof the list, just aboveHalliday’shigh score.Then themonitorwentblank,andamessageappearedinthecenterofthescreen:

WELLDONE,PARZIVAL!PREPAREFORSTAGE2!

Thenthegamecabinetvanished,andmyavatarvanishedwithit.

Ifoundmyselfgallopingacrossafog-coveredhillside.IassumedIwasridingahorse,becauseIwasbobbingupanddownandIheardthesoundofhoofbeats.Directlyahead,afamiliar-lookingcastlehadjustappearedoutofthefog.Butwhen I looked down atmy avatar’s body, I saw that I wasn’t riding a

horseatall.Iwaswalkingontheground.Myavatarwasnowdressedinasuitofchain-mailarmor,andmyhandswereheldoutinfrontofmybody,asthoughIwere clutching a set of reins. But I wasn’t holding anything.My hands werecompletelyempty.I stoppedmoving forward and the sound of hoofbeats also ceased, but not

until a few seconds later. I turned around and saw the source of the sound. Itwasn’tahorse.Itwasamanbangingtwococonuthalvestogether.ThenIknewwhereIwas.InsidethefirstsceneofMontyPythonandtheHoly

Grail.AnotherofHalliday’sfavoritefilms,andperhapsthemost-belovedgeekfilmofalltime.ItappearedtobeanotherFlicksync,liketheWarGamessimulationinsideGate

One.I was playing King Arthur, I realized. I wore the same costume Graham

Chapmanhadworn in thefilm.And themanwith thecoconutswasmytrustymanservant,Patsy,asplayedbyTerryGilliam.PatsybowedandgroveledabitwhenIturnedtofacehim,butsaidnothing.“It’sPython’sHolyGrail!”IheardShotowhisperexcitedly.“Duh,”Isaid,forgettingmyselfforasecond.“Iknowthat,Shoto.”A warning flashed on my display: INCORRECT DIALOGUE! A score of –100

pointsappearedinthecornerofmydisplay.“Smoothmove,Ex-lax,”IheardArt3missay.“Justletusknowifyouneedanyhelp,Z,”Aechsaid.“Waveyourhandsor

something,andwe’llfeedyouthenextline.”Inoddedandgaveathumbs-up.ButIdidn’tthinkIwasgoingtoneedmuch

help.Overthepastsixyears,I’dwatchedHolyGrailexactly157times.Ikneweverywordbyheart.I glanced back up at the castle ahead of me, already aware of what was

waitingformethere.Ibeganto“gallop”again,holdingmyinvisiblereinsasIpretendedtorideforward.Onceagain,Patsybegantobanghiscoconuthalvestogether, galloping along behind me. When we reached the entrance of thecastle,Ipulledbackonmy“reins”andbroughtmy“steed”toahalt.“Whoathere!”Ishouted.Myscoreincreasedby100points,bringingitbackuptozero.Oncue, twosoldiersappearedupabove, leaningover thecastlewall.“Who

goesthere?”oneofthemshouteddownatus.“ItisI,Arthur,sonofUtherPendragon,fromthecastleofCamelot,”Irecited.

“KingoftheBritons!DefeateroftheSaxons!SovereignofallEngland!”My score jumped another 500 points, and amessage informedme that I’d

receivedabonusformyaccentandinflection.Ifeltmyselfrelax,andIrealizedI

wasalreadyhavingfun.“Pulltheotherone!”thesoldierreplied.“Iam,”Icontinued.“AndthisismytrustyservantPatsy.Wehaveriddenthe

lengthandbreadthofthelandinsearchofknightswhowilljoinmeinmycourtatCamelot.Imustspeakwithyourlordandmaster!”Another 500 points. In my ear, I could hear my friends giggling and

applauding.“What?”theothersoldierreplied.“Riddenonahorse?”“Yes!”Isaid.100points.“You’reusingcoconuts!”“What?”Isaid.100points.“You’vegottwoemptyhalvesofcoconutandyou’rebangin’’emtogether!”“So?Wehaveriddensincethesnowsofwintercoveredthisland,throughthe

kingdomofMercia,through—”Another500points.“Where’dyougetthecoconuts?”Andso itwent.Thecharacter Iwasplayingchanged fromone scene to the

next,switching towhomeverhad themostdialogue. Incredibly, I flubbedonlysixorsevenlines.EachtimeIgotstumped,allIhadtodowasshrugandholdout my hands, palms up—my signal that I needed some help—and Aech,Art3mis,andShotowouldallgleefullyfeedmethecorrectline.Therestofthetimetheyremainedsilentexceptfortheoccasionalgigglefitorburstoflaughter.Theonlyreallydifficultpartwasnotlaughingmyself,especiallywhenArt3misstarted doing note-perfect recitations of all of Carol Cleveland’s lines in theCastleAnthraxscene.Icrackedupafewtimesandgothitwithscorepenaltiesforit.Otherwise,itwassmoothsailing.Reenactingthefilmwasn’tjusteasy—itwasatotalblast.About halfway through the movie, right after my confrontation with the

KnightsofNi, Iopenedupa textwindowonmydisplayand typedSTATUSONTHESIXERS?“FifteenofthemarestillplayingTempest,”IheardAechreply.“Butthreeof

them beat Halliday’s score and are now inside theGrail simulation.” A briefpause. “And the leader—Sorrento, we think—is running just nine minutesbehindyou.”“Andsofar,hehasn’tmissedasinglelineofdialogue,”Shotoadded.Inearlycursedoutloud,thencaughtmyselfandtypedSHIT!“Exactly,”Art3missaid.Itookadeepbreathandreturnedmyattentiontothenextscene(“TheTaleof

SirLauncelot”).Aech continued to givemeupdates on theSixerswhenever Iaskedforthem.

When I reached the film’s final scene (the assault on the French Castle), Igrew anxious again, wondering what would happen next. The First Gate hadrequiredmetoreenactamovie(WarGames),andtheSecondGatehadcontainedavideogamechallenge(BlackTiger).Sofar,theThirdGatehadcontainedboth.Iknewtheremustbeathirdstage,butIhadnoideawhatitmightbe.Igotmyanswerafewminuteslater.AssoonasIcompletedHolyGrail’sfinal

scene, my display went black while the silly organ music that ends the filmplayedfora fewminutes.When themusicstopped, thefollowingappearedonmydisplay:

CONGRATULATIONS!YOUHAVEREACHEDTHEEND!

READYPLAYER1And then, as the text faded away, I found myself standing in a huge oak-

paneledroomasbigasawarehouse,withahighvaultedceilingandapolishedhardwood floor. The room had nowindows, and only one exit—large doubledoorssetintooneofthefourbarewalls.Anolderhigh-endOASISimmersionrig stood in the absolute center of the expansive room.Over a hundred glasstablessurroundedtherig,arrangedinalargeovalaroundit.Oneachtabletherewas a different classic home computer or videogame system, accompanied bytiered racks that appeared to hold a complete collection of its peripherals,controllers,software,andgames.Allofitwasarrangedperfectly,likeamuseumexhibit.Lookingaroundthecircle, fromonesystemto thenext, Isawthat thecomputersseemedtobearrangedroughlybyyearoforigin.APDP-1.AnAltair8800.AnIMSAI8080.AnAppleI,rightnexttoanAppleII.AnAtari2600.ACommodorePET.An Intellivision.SeveraldifferentTRS-80models.AnAtari400and800.AColecoVision.ATI-99/4.ASinclairZX80.ACommodore64.VariousNintendoandSegagamesystems.TheentirelineageofMacsandPCs,PlayStationsandXboxes.Finally,completingthecircle,wasanOASISconsole—connectedtotheimmersionriginthecenteroftheroom.Irealized that Iwasstanding inare-creationofJamesHalliday’soffice, the

roominhismansionwherehe’dspentmostofthelastfifteenyearsofhislife.The place where he’d coded his last and greatest game. The one I was nowplaying.I’dneverseenanyphotosof thisroom,but its layoutandcontentshadbeen

described in great detail by the movers hired to clear the place out afterHalliday’sdeath.I lookeddownatmyavatarandsawthatInolongerappearedasoneof the

MontyPythonknights.IwasParzivalonceagain.First,Ididtheobviousandtriedtheexit.Thedoorswouldn’tbudge.Iturnedbackandtookanotherlonglookaroundtheroom,surveyingthelong

lineofmonumentstothehistoryofcomputingandvideogames.That was when I realized that the oval-shaped ring in which they were

arrangedactuallyformedtheoutlineofanegg.Inmyhead,IrecitedthewordsofHalliday’sfirstriddle,theoneinAnorak’s

Invitation:

ThreehiddenkeysopenthreesecretgatesWhereintheerrantwillbetestedforworthytraitsAndthosewiththeskilltosurvivethesestraitsWillreachTheEndwheretheprizeawaits

I’d reached the end. This was it. Halliday’s Easter egg must be hidden

somewhereinthisroom.

“Doyouguysseethis?”Iwhispered.Therewasnoreply.“Hello?Aech?Art3mis?Shoto?Areyouguysstillthere?”Stillnoreply.EitherOghadcuttheirvoicelinkstome,orHallidayhadcoded

thisfinalstageofthegatesothatnooutsidecommunicationwaspossible.Iwasprettysureitwasthelatter.Istoodthereinsilenceforaminute,unsureofwhattodo.ThenIfollowedmy

first instinct and walked over to the Atari 2600. It was hooked up to a 1977ZenithColorTV.IturnedontheTV,butnothinghappened.ThenIswitchedontheAtari.Stillnothing.Therewasnopower,eventhoughboththeTVandtheAtariwerepluggedintoelectricaloutletssetintothefloor.ItriedtheAppleIIonthetablebesideit.Itwouldn’tswitchoneither.Afterafewminutesofexperimentation,Idiscoveredthat theonlycomputer

thatwouldpoweronwasoneoftheoldest,theIMSAI8080,thesamemodelofcomputerMatthewBroderickownedinWarGames.WhenIbooteditup,thescreenwascompletelyblank,saveforoneword.

LOGIN:ItypedinANORAKandhitEnter.

IDENTIFICATION NOT RECOGNIZED—CONNECTIONTERMINATED.

Then the computer shut itself off and I had to power it back on to get the

LOGINpromptagain.ItriedHALLIDAY.Nodice.InWarGames, thebackdoorpassword thathadgrantedaccess to theWOPR

supercomputerwas “Joshua.”ProfessorFalken, the creator of theWOPR,had

used thenameofhissonfor thepassword.Thepersonhe’d lovedmost in theworld.ItypedinOG.Itdidn’twork.OGDENdidn’tworkeither.ItypedinKIRAandhittheEnterkey.

IDENTIFICATION NOT RECOGNIZED—CONNECTIONTERMINATED.

Itriedeachofhisparents’firstnames.ItriedZAPHOD,thenameofhispetfish.

ThenTIBERIUS,thenameofaferrethe’donceowned.Noneofthemworked.I checked the time. I’d been in this room for over tenminutes now.Which

meantthatSorrentohadcaughtupwithme.Sohewouldnowbeinsidehisownseparate copy of this room, probably with a team of Halliday scholarswhisperingsuggestionsinhisear,thankstohishackedimmersionrig.Theywereprobablyalreadyworkingfromaprioritizedlistofpossibilities,enteringthemasfastasSorrentocouldtype.Iwasoutoftime.Iclenchedmyteethinfrustration.Ihadnoideawhattotrynext.ThenIrememberedalinefromOgdenMorrow’sbiography:Theoppositesex

made Jim extremely nervous, andKira was the only girl that I ever saw himspeaktoinarelaxedmanner.Buteventhen,itwasonlyin-character,asAnorak,during the course of our gaming sessions, and he would only address her asLeucosia,thenameofherD&Dcharacter.Irebootedthecomputeragain.WhentheLOGINpromptreappeared,Itypedin

LEUCOSIA.ThenIhittheEnterkey.Every system in the room powered itself on. The sounds of whirring disk

drives,self-testbeeps,andotherboot-upsoundsechoedoffthevaultedceiling.I ran back over to the Atari 2600 and searched through the giant rack of

alphabetizedgamecartridgesbeside ituntil I found theone Iwas looking for:Adventure.IshoveditintotheAtariandturnedthesystemon,thenhittheResetswitchtostartthegame.IttookmeonlyafewminutestoreachtheSecretRoom.Igrabbedtheswordandusedittoslayallthreeofthedragons.ThenIfound

the black key, opened the gates of the Black Castle, and ventured into itslabyrinth.Thegraydotwashiddenrightwhereitwassupposedtobe.Ipickeditupandcarrieditbackacrossthetiny8-bitkingdom,thenusedittopassthroughthemagicbarrierandentertheSecretRoom.ButunliketheoriginalAtarigame,this Secret Room didn’t contain the name of Warren Robinett, Adventure’s

originalprogrammer.Instead,attheverycenterofthescreen,therewasalargewhiteovalwithpixelatededges.Anegg.Theegg.Istaredat theTVscreeninstunnedsilenceforamoment.ThenIpulledthe

Atari joystick to the right,movingmy tiny square avatar across the flickeringscreen.TheTV’smonospeakeremittedabriefelectronicbipsoundasIdroppedthegraydotandpickeduptheegg.AsIdid,therewasabrilliantflashoflight,andthenIsawthatmyavatarwasnolongerholdingajoystick.Now,cuppedinboth of my hands, was a large silver egg. I could see my avatar’s warpedreflectiononitscurvedsurface.When I finallymanaged to stop staring at it, I looked up and saw that the

doubledoorsontheothersideoftheroomhadbeenreplacedwiththegateexit—acrystal-edgedportalleadingbackintothefoyerofCastleAnorak.Thecastleappearedtohavebeencompletelyrestored,eventhoughtheOASISserverstillwouldn’tresetforseveralmorehours.I tookone last lookaroundHalliday’soffice; then, still clutching theegg in

myhands,Iwalkedacrosstheroomandsteppedthroughtheexit.As soon as Iwas through it, I turned around just in time to see theCrystal

Gatetransformintoalargewoodendoorsetintothecastlewall.Iopenedthewoodendoor.Beyondittherewasaspiralstaircasethatledupto

thetopofCastleAnorak’stallesttower.There,IfoundAnorak’sstudy.Toweringshelveslinedtheroom,filledwithancientscrollsanddustyspellbooks.I walked over to the window and looked out on a stunning view of the

surroundinglandscape.Itwasnolongerbarren.TheeffectsoftheCataclysthadbeenundone,andallofChthoniaappearedtobehavebeenrestoredalongwiththecastle.Ilookedaroundtheroom.Directlybeneaththefamiliarblackdragonpainting

therewas an ornate crystal pedestal onwhich rested a gold chalice encrustedwithtinyjewels.ItsdiametermatchedthatofthesilvereggIheldinmyhands.Iplacedtheegginthechalice,anditfitperfectly.Inthedistance,Iheardafanfareoftrumpets,andtheeggbegantoglow.“Youwin,” I heard avoice say. I turned and saw thatAnorakwas standing

rightbehindme.Hisobsidianblack robes seemed topullmostof the sunlightout of the room. “Congratulations,” he said, stretching out his long-fingeredhand.Ihesitated,wonderingifthiswasanothertrick.Orperhapsonefinaltest…“Thegameisover,”Anoraksaid,asifhe’dreadmymind.“It’stimeforyou

toreceiveyourprize.”I lookeddownathisoutstretchedhand.Then,afteramoment’shesitation, I

tookit.Cascadingboltsofblue lightningerupted in thespacebetweenus,and their

spiderwebtinesenvelopedusboth,asifasurgeofpowerwerepassingfromhisavatarintomine.Whenthelightningsubsided,IsawthatAnorakwasnolongerdressedinhisblackwizard’srobes.Infact,henolongerlookedlikeAnorakatall.Hewasshorter, thinner,andsomewhatlesshandsome.NowhelookedlikeJamesHalliday.Pale.Middle-aged.Hewasdressed inworn jeansanda fadedSpaceInvadersT-shirt.I looked down at my own avatar and discovered that I was now wearing

Anorak’srobes.ThenIrealizedthat the iconsandreadoutsaroundtheedgeofmydisplayhadalsochanged.Mystatswereallcompletelymaxxedout,and Inowhadalistofspells,inherentpowers,andmagicitemsthatseemedtoscrollonforever.Myavatar’slevelandhit-pointcountersbothhadinfinitysymbolsinfrontof

them.Andmy credit readout nowdisplayed a number twelve digits long. Iwas a

multibillionaire.“I’mentrusting thecareof theOASIS toyounow,Parzival,”Hallidaysaid.

“Youravatarisimmortalandall-powerful.Whateveryouwant,allyouhavetodoiswishforit.Prettysweet,eh?”Heleanedtowardmeandloweredhisvoice.“Domeafavor.Tryanduseyourpowersonlyforgood.OK?”“OK,”Isaid,inavoicethatwasbarelyawhisper.Hallidaysmiled,thengesturedaroundus.“Thisisyourcastlenow.I’vecoded

thisroomsothatonlyyouravatarcanenterit.Ididthistoensurethatyoualonehaveaccesstothis.”Hewalkedovertoabookshelfagainstthewallandpulledonthespineofoneofthevolumesitheld.Iheardaclick;thenthebookshelfslidaside,revealingasquaremetalplatesetintothewall.Inthecenteroftheplatetherewasacomicallylargeredbuttonembossedwithasingleword:OFF.“IcallthistheBigRedButton,”Hallidaysaid.“Ifyoupressit,itwillshutoff

the entireOASISand launch aworm thatwill delete everything storedon theGSS servers, including all of the OASIS source code. It will shut down theOASISforever.”Hesmirked.“Sodon’tpressitunlessyou’reabsolutelypositiveit’s the right thing to do, OK?” He gave me an odd smile. “I trust yourjudgment.”Hallidayslidthebookshelfbackintoplace,concealingthebuttononceagain.

Thenhestartledmebyputtinghisarmaroundmyshoulders.“Listen,”hesaid,adopting a confidential tone. “I need to tell you one last thing before I go.SomethingIdidn’tfigureoutformyselfuntilitwasalreadytoolate.”Heledmeovertothewindowandmotionedoutatthelandscapestretchingoutbeyondit.

“I created theOASIS because I never felt at home in the realworld. I didn’tknowhowtoconnectwiththepeoplethere.Iwasafraid,forallofmylife.RightupuntilIknewitwasending.ThatwaswhenIrealized,asterrifyingandpainfulas reality can be, it’s also the only place where you can find true happiness.Becauserealityisreal.Doyouunderstand?”“Yes,”Isaid.“IthinkIdo.”“Good,” he said, giving me a wink. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.

Don’thideinhereforever.”Hesmiledandtookafewstepsawayfromme.“Allright.Ithinkthatcovers

everything.It’stimeformetoblowthispopstand.”Then Halliday began to disappear. He smiled and waved good-bye as his

avatarslowlyfadedoutofexistence.“Goodluck,Parzival,”hesaid.“Andthanks.Thanksforplayingmygame.”Thenhewascompletelygone.

“Areyouguysthere?”Isaidtotheemptyairafewminuteslater.“Yes!”Aechsaidexcitedly.“Canyouhearus?”“Yeah.Icannow.Whathappened?”“ThesystemcutoffourvoicelinkstoyouassoonasyouenteredHalliday’s

office,sowecouldn’ttalktoyou.”“Luckily,youdidn’tneedourhelpanyway,”Shotosaid.“Goodjob,man.”“Congratulations,Wade,” IheardArt3missay.AndIcould tell shemeant it

too.“Thanks,”Isaid.“ButIcouldn’thavedoneitwithoutyouguys.”“You’reright,”Art3missaid.“Remembertomentionthatwhenyoutalktothe

media.Ogsaysthereareafewhundredreportersontheirwayhererightnow.”IglancedbackoveratthebookshelfthatconcealedtheBigRedButton.“Did

youguysseeeverythingHallidaysaidtomebeforehevanished?”Iasked.“No,”Art3missaid.“Wesaweverythingupuntilhetoldyouto‘tryanduse

your powers only for good.’ Then your vidfeed cut out.What happened afterthat?”“Nothingmuch,”Isaid.“I’lltellyouaboutitlater.”“Dude,”Aechsaid.“You’vegottochecktheScoreboard.”IopenedawindowandpulleduptheScoreboard.Thelistofhighscoreswas

gone.NowtheonlythingdisplayedonHalliday’swebsitewasanimageofmyavatar,dressedinAnorak’srobes,holdingthesilveregg,alongwiththewordsPARZIVALWINS!“WhathappenedtotheSixers?”Iasked.“Theoneswhowerestillinsidethe

gate?”“We’renotsure,”Aechsaid.“Theirvidfeedsvanishedwhen theScoreboard

changed.”“Maybetheiravatarswerekilled,”Shotosaid.“Ormaybe…”“Maybetheywerejustejectedfromthegate,”Isaid.IpulledupmymapofChthoniaandsawthatIcouldnowteleportanywhere

intheOASISsimplybyselectingmydesireddestinationintheatlas.IzoomedinonCastleAnorakand tappedaspot justoutside thefrontentrance,and inablink,myavatarwasstandingthere.Iwasright.WhenI’dclearedtheThirdGate,theeighteenSixeravatarswho

were still inside had been ejected from the gate and deposited in front of thecastle.Theywereall standing therewithconfused lookson their faceswhen Iappearedinfrontofthem,resplendentinmynewthreads.Theyallstaredatmein silence for a few seconds, then pulled out guns and swords, preparing toattack. They all looked identical, so I couldn’t tell which one was beingcontrolledbySorrento.Butatthispoint,Ididn’treallycare.Usingmyavatar’snewsuperuser interface, Imadea sweepinggesturewith

myhand,selectingalloftheSixeravatarsonmydisplay.Theiroutlinesbegantoglowred.ThenItappedtheskull-and-crossbonesiconthatnowappearedonmyavatar’stoolbar.AlleighteenSixeravatarsinstantlydroppeddead.Theirbodiesslowly fadedoutof existence, each leavingbehinda tinypileofweaponsandloot.“Holyshit!”IheardShotosayoverthecomlink.“Howdidyoudothat?”“YouheardHalliday,”Aechsaid.“Hisavatarisimmortalandall-powerful.”“Yeah,”Isaid.“Hewasn’tkidding,either.”“Halliday also said you could wish for whatever you wanted,” Aech said.

“Whatareyougonnawishforfirst?”Ithoughtaboutthatforasecond;thenItappedthenewCommandiconthat

nowappearedattheedgeofmydisplayandsaid,“IwishforAech,Art3mis,andShototoberesurrected.”A dialogwindow popped up, askingme to confirm the spelling of each of

their avatar names. Once I did, the system asked me if, in addition toresurrectingtheiravatars,Iwantedtorestorealloftheirlostitems,too.Itappedthe Yes icon. Then a message appeared in the center of my display:RESURRECTIONCOMPLETE.AVATARSRESTORED.“Guys?”Isaid.“Youmightwanttotryloggingbackintoyouraccountsnow.”“We’realreadyonourway!”Aechshouted.A few seconds later, Shoto logged back into his account, and his avatar

materializedashortdistance in frontofme, in theexactspotwherehe’dbeen

killedafewhoursearlier.Heranovertome,grinningfromeartoear.“Arigato,Parzival-san,”hesaid,bowinglow.Ireturnedthebow,thenthrewmyarmsaroundhim.“Welcomeback,”Isaid.

Amomentlater,Aechemergedfromthecastleentranceandranovertojoinus.“Goodasnew,”hesaid,grinningdownathisrestoredavatar.“Thanks,Z.”“De nada.” I glanced back through the castle’s open entrance. “Where’s

Art3mis?Sheshouldhavereappearedrightnexttoyou—”“Shedidn’t logbackin,”Aechsaid.“Shesaidshewantedtogooutsideand

getsomefreshair.”“Yousawher?What—?”Isearchedfortherightwords.“Howdidshelook?”Theyboth justsmiledatme; thenAechrestedahandonmyshoulder.“She

saidshe’dbeoutsidewaitingforyou.Wheneveryou’rereadytomeether.”Inodded.IwasabouttotapmyLog-outiconwhenAechheldupher—his—

hand.“Waitasecond!Beforeyoulogout,you’vegottoseesomething,”hesaid,openingawindowinfrontofme.“This isairingonallof thenewsfeedsrightnow. The feds just took Sorrento in for questioning. They stormed into IOIheadquartersandyankedhimrightoutofhishapticchair!”A video clip began to play. Handheld camera footage showed a team of

federal agents leading Sorrento across the lobby of the IOI corporateheadquarters.Hewasstillwearinghishapticsuitandwasshadowedbyagray-hairedmaninasuitwhoIassumedwashisattorney.Sorrentolookedannoyedmore than anything, as if thiswere all just amild inconvenience.The captionalong the bottomof thewindow read:Top IOIExecutive SorrentoAccused ofMurder.“The newsfeeds have been playing clips from the simcap of your chatlink

sessionwithSorrentoallday,”Aechsaid,pausingtheclip.“Especiallythepartwherehethreatenstokillyouandthenblowsupyouraunt’strailer.”AechhitPlay, and thenewsclipcontinued.The federal agentscontinued to

usherSorrentothroughthelobby,whichwaspackedwithreporters,allpushingagainstoneanotherandshoutingquestions.ThereportershootingthevideowewerewatchinglungedforwardandjammedthecamerainSorrento’sface.“Didyougive theorder tokillWadeWattspersonally?” thereportershouted.“Howdoesitfeeltoknowyoujustlostthecontest?”Sorrento smiled, but didn’t reply. Then his attorney stepped in front of the

cameraandaddressedthereporters.“Thechargesleveledagainstmyclientarepreposterous,”hesaid.“Thesimcapbeingcirculatedisclearlyadoctoredfake.Wehavenoothercommentatthistime.”Sorrento nodded. He continued to smile as the feds led him out of the

building.

“Thebastardwillprobablygetoffscot-free,”Isaid.“IOIcanaffordtohirethebestlawyersintheworld.”“Yes, theycan,”Aechsaid.Thenhe flashedhisCheshiregrin.“Butnowso

canwe.”

WhenIsteppedoutoftheimmersionbay,Ogwasstandingtherewaitingforme. “Well done,Wade!” he said, pullingme into a crushing bear hug. “Welldone!”“Thanks,Og.”Iwasstilldazedandfeltunsteadyonmyfeet.“Several chief executives fromGSSarrivedwhile youwere logged in,”Og

said.“AlongwithallofJim’slawyers.They’reallwaitingupstairs.Asyoucanimagine,they’reanxioustospeakwithyou.”“DoIhavetotalktothemrightnow?”“No, of course not!”He laughed. “They all work for you now, remember?

Makethebastardswaitaslongasyoulike!”Heleanedforward.“Mylawyerisuptheretoo.He’sagoodguy.Arealpitbull.He’llmakesurethatnoonemesseswithyou,OK?”“Thanks,Og,”Isaid.“Ireallyoweyou.”“Nonsense!”hesaid.“Ishouldbethankingyou.Ihaven’thadthismuchfun

indecades!Youdidgood,kid.”I glanced around uncertainly.Aech and Shotowere still in their immersion

bays, holding an impromptu online press conference. But Art3mis’s bay wasempty.IturnedbacktoOg.“DoyouknowwhichwayArt3miswent?”Oggrinned atme, thenpointed. “Up those stairs andout the first door you

see,”hesaid.“Shesaidshe’dwaitforyouatthecenterofmyhedgemaze.”Hesmiled.“It’saneasymaze.Itshouldn’ttakeyouverylongtofindher.”Isteppedoutsideandsquintedasmyeyesadjusted to the light.Theairwas

warm,andthesunwasalreadyhighoverheard.Therewasn’tacloudinthesky.Itwasabeautifulday.The hedge maze covered several acres of land behind the mansion. The

entrancewasdesigned to look like the facadeof a castle, andyouentered themaze through its open gates. The dense hedgewalls that comprised themazeweretenfeettall,makingitimpossibletopeekoverthem,evenifyoustoodon

topofoneofthebenchesplacedthroughoutthelabyrinth.I entered the maze and wandered around in circles for a few minutes,

confused. Eventually, I realized that the maze’s layout was identical to thelabyrinthinAdventure.After that, it tookmeonlya fewmoreminutes to findmyway to the large

openareaatthemaze’scenter.Alargefountainstoodthere,withadetailedstonesculptureofAdventure’sthreeduck-shapeddragons.Eachdragonwasspittingastreamofwaterinsteadofbreathingfire.AndthenIsawher.Shewassittingonastonebench,staringintothefountain.Shehadherbackto

me, and her headwas tilted down.Her long black hair spilled down over herrightshoulder.Icouldseethatshewaskneadingherhandsinherlap.Iwas afraid tomove any closer.Finally, Iworkedup the courage to speak.

“Hello,”Isaid.Sheliftedherheadatthesoundofmyvoice,butdidn’tturnaround.“Hello,”Iheardhersay.Anditwashervoice.Art3mis’svoice.ThevoiceI’d

spentsomanyhourslisteningto.Andthatgavemethecouragetostepforward.IwalkedaroundthefountainandstoppedonceIwasstandingdirectlyinfront

ofher.Assheheardmeapproach,sheturnedherheadaway,avertinghereyesandkeepingmeoutofherfieldofvision.ButIcouldseeher.She looked just as she had in the photo I’d seen. She had the same

Rubenesquebody.Thesamepale,freckledskin.Thesamehazeleyesandravenhair.Thesamebeautifulroundface,withthesamereddishbirthmark.Butunlikeinthatphoto,shewasn’t tryingtohidethebirthmarkwithasweepofherhair.Shehadherhairbrushedback,soIcouldseeit.Iwaitedinsilence.Butshestillwouldn’tlookupatme.“YoulookjustlikeIalwayspicturedyou,”Isaid.“Beautiful.”“Really?” she said softly. Slowly, she turned to face me, taking in my

appearancea littleat a time, startingwithmy feet and thengraduallyworkingherwayuptomyface.Whenoureyesfinallymet,shesmiledatmenervously.“Well,whatdoyouknow?YoulookjustlikeIalwaysthoughtyouwouldtoo,”shesaid.“Buttugly.”Webothlaughed,andmostofthetensionintheairdissipated.Thenwestared

intoeachother’seyesforwhatseemedlikealongtime.Itwas,Irealized,alsotheveryfirsttime.“Wehaven’tbeenformallyintroduced,”shesaid.“I’mSamantha.”“Hello,Samantha.I’mWade.”“It’snicetofinallymeetyouinperson,Wade.”

Shepattedthebenchbesideher,andIsatdown.Afteralongsilence,shesaid,“Sowhathappensnow?”Ismiled.“We’regoingtouseallofthemoolahwejustwontofeedeveryone

ontheplanet.We’regoingtomaketheworldabetterplace,right?”Shegrinned. “Don’t youwant to build a huge interstellar spaceship, load it

fullofvideogames,junkfood,andcomfycouches,andthengetthehelloutofhere?”“I’mupforthat,too,”Isaid.“IfitmeansIgettospendtherestofmylifewith

you.”She gaveme a shy smile. “We’ll have to see,” she said. “We justmet, you

know.”“I’minlovewithyou.”Herlowerlipstartedtotremble.“You’resureaboutthat?”“Yes.Iam.Becauseit’strue.”Shesmiledatme,butIalsosawthatshewascrying.“I’msorryforbreaking

thingsoffwithyou,”shesaid.“Fordisappearingfromyourlife.Ijust—”“It’sOK,”Isaid.“Iunderstandwhyyoudiditnow.”Shelookedrelieved.“Youdo?”Inodded.“Youdidtherightthing.”“Youthinkso?”“Wewon,didn’twe?”Shesmiledatme,andIsmiledback.“Listen,”Isaid.“Wecantakethingsasslowasyoulike.I’mreallyaniceguy,

onceyougettoknowme.Iswear.”Shelaughedandwipedawayafewofhertears,butshedidn’tsayanything.“DidImentionthatI’malsoextremelyrich?”Isaid.“Ofcourse,soareyou,

soIdon’tsupposethat’sabigsellingpoint.”“You don’t need to sellme on anything,Wade,” she said. “You’remy best

friend.Myfavoriteperson.”Withwhatappeared tobesomeeffort,she lookedmeintheeye.“I’vereallymissedyou,youknowthat?”Myheartfeltlikeitwasonfire.Itookamomenttoworkupmycourage;then

Ireachedoutandtookherhand.Wesatthereawhile,holdinghands,revelinginthestrangenewsensationofactuallytouchingoneanother.Sometimelater,sheleanedoverandkissedme.Itfeltjustlikeallthosesongs

and poems had promised it would. It felt wonderful. Like being struck bylightning.ItoccurredtomethenthatforthefirsttimeinaslongasIcouldremember,I

hadabsolutelynodesiretologbackintotheOASIS.

Acknowledgments

Manyofmyfavoritepeopleweresubjectedtoearlydraftsofthisbook,andeachofthemgavemeinvaluablefeedbackandencouragement.MysincerethankstoEricCline, Susan Somers-Willett, ChrisBeaver,HarryKnowles,AmberBird,IngridRichter,SaraSutterfieldWinn,JeffKnight,HilaryThomas,AnneMiano,TonieKnight,NicholeCook,CristinO’KeefeAptowicz,JaySmith,MikeHenry,JedStrahm,AndyHowell,andChrisFry.I’m also indebted to Yfat Reiss Gendell, the Coolest Agent in the Known

Universe,whomanagedtomakeseveralofmylifelongdreamscometruejustafew months after I met her. Thanks also to Stéphanie Abou, Hannah BrownGordon, Cecilia Campbell-Westlind, and all of the awesome folks at FoundryLiteraryandMedia.A huge shout-out to the amazing Dan Farah, my friend, manager, and

Hollywood partner in crime. My gratitude also goes out to Donald De Line,AndrewHaas, and JesseEhrman atWarnerBros., for believing that this bookwillmakeagreatmovie.Thanks to the incredibly talented and supportive team at Crown, including

PattyBerg,SarahBreivogel,JacobBronstein,DavidDrake,JillFlaxman,JacquiLebow, Rachelle Mandik, Maya Mavjee, Seth Morris, Michael Palgon, TinaPohlman, Annsley Rosner, and Molly Stern. And to my fantastic copyeditor,DeannaHoak,whofoundtheSecretRoominAdventurebackintheday.I owe a special debt of gratitude to Julian Pavia, my brilliant editor, who

believed in my ability as a writer long before I finished this book. Julian’sstartling intelligence, insight,andrelentlessattention todetailhelpedmeshapeReadyPlayerOne intothebookI’dalwayswantedittobe,andhemademeabetterwriterintheprocess.Finally, I want to thank all of the writers, filmmakers, actors, artists,

musicians, programmers, game designers, and geeks whose work I’ve paidtributetointhisstory.Thesepeoplehaveallentertainedandenlightenedme,and

Ihopethat—likeHalliday’shunt—thisbookwillinspireotherstoseekouttheircreations.

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

ErnestClinelivesinAustin,Texas,wherehedevotesalargeportionofhistime

togeekingout.Thisishisfirstnovel.

Formoreinformationpleasevisit:www.ernestcline.com