Close But No Cigar by Caretaker Epic.

Tom squinted at the words on the wall display. He pictured Caretaker Epic zooming around on his flying camera in the Dungeon while they fought the Headless Boss. This must be what he had meant by 'universal highlight reel'.

A digital globe displayed on Tom's left wall rotated slowly, until California was brought into focus. The screen zoomed in until it highlighted a section of Los Angeles.

The main display directly in front of Tom showed a row of small city businesses with crumbling brick walls and collapsed roofs. They shook themselves apart as they sank into the ground. A burst fire hydrant sprayed water high into the air.

The screen zoomed in. A panicked older East Asian man ran along the sidewalk through the falling water. He swiped the water off his face, and let out a whimper as he turned into an alley. He scrambled over a dumpster and onto the roof of a collapsing building, barely escaping the large circular mouths of the giant purple Worms chasing him.

"Oh shit, oh shit," he said to himself. Purple goo dripped off his shoes as he crawled toward the center of the unstable roof. The Worms on the ground tilted back, and opened their mouths to reveal concentric circles of sharp teeth. Their mouths made loud sucking and popping noises as they opened and closed.

The sound of high-pitched Headless squeals involuntarily flashed into Tom's mind. He shuddered.

"Too close," the old man panted. He leaned against the brick parapet for support.

A sharp crack rang out behind him. He froze in place, then slowly turned.

A humongous purple Worm pushed through the building's chimney, dislodging loose bricks which crashed down into the street.

The old man shouted and crawled away from the monstrous creature. The Worm lashed out and bowled into him with incredible force. The man tumbled off the roof and into the writhing pile of Worms below. He screamed as they swarmed him, crushing him between their bodies. His cries were muffled as he disappeared from sight.

"Fuck me," Tom whispered in horror as the man met his gruesome end.

Again, the digital globe displayed on Tom's left wall spun until it landed on Didsbury, just outside of Manchester, England.

The scene changed again to an exhausted jogger who collapsed to her knees on a park path. She looked around, wide-eyed, and fought to catch her breath. The young woman's pale hands shook as the park equipment sank into the earth around her.

"Fire!" a shrill squeaky command echoed from the nearby trees, shattering the woman's brief respite. Dozens of tiny harpoons erupted from the treeline. The woman clutched her face—peppered with dozens of puncture wounds and tiny shafts of metal—and panic flooded her eyes. She let out an ear-shattering scream.

A frantic Mick re-appeared, superimposed over the scene. "Jesus, what in the bloody hell is this! AI, can you hear me? Pause highlight reel!"

The woman tore down the path even as the grass grew and reclaimed it. She yelled and clutched her face, but she was fast; it looked like she might get away.

Tiny savage Pixies flooded from the foliage around her, waving small spears and screaming.

The footpath vanished completely under a carpet of green and brown. The woman tripped on a gnarled tree root. An instant later, she was covered in a swarm of stabbing Pixies.

"Bloody AI!" Mick roared. "I said stop the video!"

The video paused on the exact moment the jogger took a spear to the eye.

Fuck!

Mick—superimposed over a dislodged eyeball and an arc of blood—looked away and took a few deep breaths.

"We will address the graphic nature of the highlight videos later," Mick said, in a tone of forced calm. "While I was not fully ready to give a debrief yet, here we are. I will not delay any longer."

Mick turned to face the camera.

"Larry Oliver, first advisor to the AI Caretakers, was found dead in his apartment. His robotic custodian discovered him, mere hours after the simulation went live last week. The investigation continues, but foul play has not been ruled out."

Tom thought of the reserved man in the Onboarding video. The one who had lost his entire family—just like him.

Mick ran a hand through his hair, which was growing disheveled again. "There is more bad news. Initial findings by the AI confirm that, upon simulation activation, all safety protocols were removed. This included the lock on low level hit points. We don't yet know whether these events are connected. But please note that, if you die in the simulation, you die here too." Mick paused. "I am sad to report that, in another blow to humankind, AI robotic crews across the world are currently disposing of many thousands of bodies."

Tom wondered if his aged heart might stop. He realized, for the first time, that one of the few reason he hadn't taken his own life was because of his family's stored consciousnesses, and the faint hope that technological advances might—somehow—provide a way for him to be with them again. Now, Mick was telling him that he could die in the simulation and lose them all over again.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Live Mick was still speaking, though Tom had barely noticed. "The Utopia team has devoted every resource, and enlisted the help of the World Congress, to fix the simulation, but . . . we currently lack the control the keep the system paused for more than a few days. Withdrawal from the simulation is no longer possible. Once Utopia starts back up, you will die in both worlds if you are not plugged in. Once the simulation restarts, we can expect to be in the fight of our lives."

A dazed Mick paused for several moments. "I wish I had better news. I am so sorry that our dream of Utopia has been warped. The investigation continues, but these are all the answers I currently can provide. That is it for tonight. I will see you in the live show tomorrow."

Mick disappeared, and the gruesome highlight video continued in the background.

Tom rose to his feet on trembling legs. The dimly lit underground room was suffocating. He shuffled around, the sounds of his rubber-soled footsteps drowned out by screams and tearing sinew.

Tom splashed water onto his face from the small sink, until a robotic voice cut in.

"Water allotment reached."

Tom sighed, and reached for a towel; he wrapped it around his neck and turned back to the grisly highlight reel.

"Disgusting."

The screen faded, and information scrolled across in white text.

01:00a.m. January 8th, 2073.

Simulation human deaths to date: 1,110,254,893

A cold knot tightened in Tom's stomach.

My God. One in six of the population dead.

.

"That's it," Tom muttered, his voice thick. "I can't handle any more."

A bird-like creature eviscerated a young man.

"Room!" Tom barked. "Please change to pictures. I'm going to sleep."

The screen shifted to a photograph taken during a vacation in Mexico with the Robinsons. The families stood together in the sunlight, their smiles wide, their skin tanned and healthy.

The worst of Tom's anxiety eased away.

Tom glanced at his bed—his resting place for a solid week—and decided instead to sleep in his chair. He settled into the seat, and allowed himself to become lost in the beautiful memory displayed before him.

"What a great day," he whispered to the room. "Swam in the ocean. Laughed. Pigged out. Watched the sunset with margaritas. It was perfect." He closed his eyes, and let the memory envelop him like a warm blanket.

*****

Tom awoke to the bang of his delivery door, and the clacking of a humanoid robot approaching his chair. It presented a tray of food.

"Greetings, Mr. Damascus. Please eat. Do not forget your daily medications."

"Thank you." Tom waved his hand dismissively, and tilted to peer around the robot at the slide show, which had continued to play through the night.

The robot set a small cup of pills on the tray, and left the room.

"Room, please go to the Utopia channel." Tom hoped it wasn't still showing the horrific slaughter reels.

A young Black man, drenched in blood, was trapped in a dead-end alley. He paced up and down the huge brick wall, searching for a way over or through. He stopped at the sound of cascading rubble behind him.

The man's eyes locked onto those of a Scorpion the size of a large dog. The arachnid scuttled menacingly toward him, its claws snapping. With a yell, the man shut his eyes and raised both hands. A brilliant burst of blinding white light erupted from his outstretched arms, obliterating the Scorpion. As the radiant glow faded, he stared in astonishment at his own hands. The scorched Scorpion was on its back, its legs curled up and twitching.

"All right, this is better," Tom said aloud.

The scene faded, and the next clip started. A small White girl was perched atop a colossal 15-foot dark green lizard. She had a firm grasp on the Wooden Flute in her hands.

A piercing scream shattered the air, drawing her focus. She rose up on the creature's back, brought the flute to her lips, and unleashed a barrage of short melodic notes.

She lowered the flute and jabbed it forward. She screamed a high-pitched battle cry that rang through the forest behind her. Her lizard companion emitted a throat-shredding roar akin to the raptors in Jurassic Park, and surged forward with astonishing speed. A horde of smaller lizards emerged from the trees, and swarmed behind them.

The camera panned, revealing the mounted girl and her mighty lizard hurtling toward a group of humanoid rat-like creatures. The small mutants had cornered a child with vivid red hair; they screeched at him and poked him with sharp sticks.

The monsters spun around, and tried to form a haphazard defensive line. Their tails drooped, and their beady eyes widened, as the giant lizards bore down on them.

The lead lizard crashed into the pack; its razor-sharp claws slashed deep rents into the flesh of the nearest creature. Blood gushed from the monster's back, leaving a pool of crimson.

The humanoid monsters tried to flee, their panicked cries drowned by the girl's battle call. A living tidal wave of lizards swarmed over them, their tiny jaws snapping and tearing.

The mounted girl reached down and pulled the trapped child from the clutches of his tormentors. Together, they cheered as the giant lizard continued its relentless slashing assault on the monsters.

Tom smiled. He enjoyed a comfortable breakfast of oatmeal and coffee while watching highlight clips of courageous and heroic acts.

Tom drifted in and out of sleep throughout the day. When he was awake, he spent most of his time watching the highlight reel.

The current feed showed the developing Kingdoms of the New World. Five Kingdoms—whose locations were displayed on the large digital globe to Tom's left—already had permanent buildings. They were near Old World Germany, Abu Dhabi, Venezuela, Southern China, and—somehow—the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. There were no Settlements yet in North America, Russia, or Australia.

The video displayed a long list of recently formed Kingdoms without any Settlements, numbering in the hundreds. Tom saw 'Kingdom of Raintree' scroll by.

Why are there so many Kingdoms without Settlements yet?

Bo would want to start building new structures as soon as they were out of the Dungeon. Tom was sure people around the world would have the same idea.

Maybe the other Kingdoms were formed around the same time as Raintree—in the last few hours before the simulation froze. Tom thought back to the Headless Boar Rider that had snatched Loo and dragged her into the Dungeon.

Did the system do that on purpose?

It was possible; maybe the system tried to guide humankind toward establishing Kingdoms by the end of week one.

Introductory music started, and the live show began.

Mick—immaculate in mustard-yellow scrubs—was interviewing Emily Li, the developer who had taken Larry's place. At ninety years old, Emily had been a member of the Utopia team since its inception. She introduced herself, and promised to remain unbiased.

"Emily, I assume you've been in contact with the simulation's AI?"

"Yes." She spoke slowly and carefully, enunciating each point. "Working alongside the AI, we have discovered that a large software package was uploaded into the system when the simulation began. We are currently trying to decrypt the software package, but we suspect it may be responsible for the disabling of the safety protocols. We are also trying to discover what actually happened to Larry. It was never Larry's intention to participate in the simulation, but his sudden passing aligns with the symptoms of a soul being transferred into the virtual world without proper connection to the physical body."

Mick's jaw dropped. "Wait! So . . . Larry is in the simulation?"

Emily's face was grim. "We believe he is, but we have not found located his soul. Whoever did this to him . . . " She paused, and shook her head. "The shock may have killed him before his soul made it there."

Mick took a long, exaggerated breath. "Are we to assume that whoever did this was trying to bypass Larry and install the software package?"

"That is one theory."

The interview continued. Mick questioned Emily about whether they could fix the simulation.

The answers boiled down to 'no'.

"Tomorrow evening, the seventy-two hour simulation pause will end," said Mick. "As of right now, we have no choice but to plug in and participate. Remember to order your simulation viewing request if you haven't already. Emily, thank you for yours and your team's hard work. Please let us know if you find out any new information."

Emily inclined her head.

"This is the conclusion of tonight's live show. Good night, everyone."

Tom forced himself to try to sleep. But that night, as he sat in his chair, the memories bombarded his brain: his family; the Headless monsters; the Onboarding video; Larry's murder. He wept one moment, and the next he laughed hysterically because they were the 'Lords and Ladies of Raintree'.

His heart was beating fast, and his head was beginning to swim. Tapped in this underground room, dealing with all these emotions alone; it was overwhelming. His trembling finger found the 'health and wellness scan' button on his console, and he held still as a colorful array of lights swept over his body. It reminded him of an old-time laser show.

"Blood pressure elevated. Heart rate increased," the medical AI said, its voice devoid of emotion. "Recommendation . . . relax, and try to sleep."

"Thanks for nothing," Tom grumbled. He had been hoping for some extra medication; something to knock him out.

Instead, he suffered alone through the night as he fought vivid nightmarish memories—both simulated and real.

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