O-light

The rain has thinned down to a drizzle, and most of the homes here have open spaces, with several groups of people enjoying beers and caña under the cover of aluminum roofs. A group of five men crack up laughing, and as I enter their line of vision, they go silent. Walking as fast as I can, I keep my head down, hoping they won't call out to me.

"¡Mamita linda! ¿Estás perdida?" says one of the men. I quicken my pace and the group breaks up laughing again, calling out behind me. I wish I could cast a real life curse of silence at them.

"Wait, isn't she María's hermana?" one says. I almost stop and turn around, but I keep going. I don't even want to know how one of them knows María or me. After a few uneventful blocks where there are mostly families hanging out and kids stomping on the puddled paths, I reach the gas station and enter the corridor that's a block away. The place is lit up by neon signs and the lamps inside the small shops, but outside it's completely dark. All of them are packed with stands of digital clocks, radios, television sets.

I know this vintage stuff is just a cover for what they carry in the back, where they keep the valuable things.

The third store down has old video games on display in the front window, so I decide to try there first. A red and blue OPEN sign hangs at the door. I close Ma's dripping umbrella and set it down outside. When I swing the door, a chime announces me and a man around my age, perhaps a bit younger, looks up from a tablet screen on a glass counter.

"We're closed," he says.

"But it says here you're open."

"Yeah, but we're closing now," he says, going back to his tablet.

"Do you sell Neural X headsets?" I say, ignoring him.

"It depends," he says, looking up. "What do you want it for?"

One of the other uses for the Neural X is to enter fantasy realms of a different kind, where the currency is flesh and not virtual gold. O-light, the company responsible for developing the helmets, banned its use for anything besides their official games and experiences as they called them, so the helmets used for other purposes have to be hacked and modified in order to suit those other needs.

"To play a game. Amoria Online, it's a-"

"Yeah, I know what it is. Ha, you don't look like someone who'd play. Where do you live? Starford, I bet."

I'm surprised he knows the game. I've only ever encountered a handful of players from Paraguay, aside from the few who stream their games online. And I make a point to stay away from them. If you want to stay in the shadows, you keep away from everything and everyone that could bring you into the limelight.

"What does someone who plays look like, anyway? And no, I live near Chimstad," I reply. Not technically true, but it stings to be associated with Starfordians, even with this stranger in the real world.

"You sound like the Purists," he says, smiling. "Pushy. No offense. I used to play, but those fuckers kept killing me. My clan keeps playing though, they-"

"Do you have one, then?" I say, interrupting him. If he doesn't have a Neural X, I need to keep searching and most of the stores will be closing for real now.

"A clan? Well-"

"No, a Neural X. I can't play on my computer anymore and I really need to get back to the game. I have work to do there."

"Ah, so you're one of those, then," he says, leaving his stool and walking towards an open door leading to the back. "If I had kept at it, maybe I could've earned money while playing too. But it takes too much time."

He walks to the back room and comes out with a chunky black helmet in his hands.

"It's the first model. We were going to refurbish it for other purposes, but our clients prefer the newer ones anyway. It's three hundred if you want it. Dollars."

"What? The newer ones sell for about four hundred online," I say.

"Yeah, but they don't make these ones anymore. They'll be worth much more for collectors in a few years. It works perfectly. So that's the price," he says, placing the helmet on the glass counter.

"Can I try it out first?" I ask. If I'm going to overpay for this ancient used set I should at least make sure it works.

"Go ahead," he says. "But you can't log into anything or we'll have to hack it again if you don't buy it."

He sits down on his stool and goes back to whatever he's doing on the tablet. I approach the counter and inspect the helmet. It's a bit scratched but it looks clean. I shake it and nothing rattles inside. The man looks up and glances in my direction.

"What can I try without logging into my O-light account, then?" I say.

"Hmm. I don't know. Wear it and turn it on. I'm telling you, it works," he replies impatiently, glancing at a clock on the wall. "Look, I'm waiting for someone and now we're really closed. If you want I can install the settings for Amoria Online tonight and you can purchase it tomorrow. I'll do that for you, for being from Chimstad," he says, chuckling.

This breach between the game and the real world makes me uncomfortable. I can appreciate his attempt at finding camaraderie in our mutual hatred for the virtual citizens of Starford, but I never really talk to anyone in real life about the nuances and politics of Amoria. And somehow, it being mentioned here so casually takes away some of its importance inside the game. It's true, though. No matter how much it reflects the real world, nothing inside Amoria matters here, except for the money I can make by playing it.

I put the helmet on and close the visor. The cushiony insides press onto my head and everything goes black. I can still feel the floor beneath my feet, but I'm inside a dark void, with a bottomless pit beneath me and no depth perspective. Then a floating menu appears in front of me, with the familiar interface of the O-light launcher software. Unsure of how to select something, I wave my arms, and a voice that seems to come from everywhere speaks to me.