Chapter 1: Anger of a Creator

I was angry. Rather than listening to reason, rather than trying something new and exciting, they were opting to go with the standard, the old, the tried and true. They were going to take the world – my world – and turn it into another of those cookie-cutter games where the player is the hero on a quest to save the world from evil. Uncomplicated, completely lacking in nuance, and requiring all the complex thought of an amoeba. Kill the monsters, get experience points, level up. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Never mind the countless hours I've spent designing something new. Never mind the adaptive AI we programmed, the one that will adjust the focus of the world to whatever play style the player would choose. Never mind putting in elements of exploration, diplomacy, cleverness, and creative problem-solving. None of that mattered to them. If people figured them out, then great, they'd see it as a hidden achievement. But no one was willing to bank the future of the game on the idea that you could win without being a rampaging marauder or a murderous, mindless conqueror.

They said that there were always ways to beat the game without killing; that was nothing new. There were even achievements in most games for doing just that. You just had to be clever, make your companions do the killing, trick the enemy into running off a cliff or fighting each other, or sneak past everything to avoid the fights. Those sorts of things were in every game, but they were never the focus. They couldn't be the focus.

People play games to kill things. That's what they told me. Never mind that a post-apocalyptic world would put a higher value on human life. Never mind that a low-tech fantasy world wouldn't allow for a single person to kill thousands of others. Never mind how unrealistic it was. That's what people wanted.

I threw my bag onto the chair so hard that the chair wobbled and almost fell over. They were so short-sighted! Here we were, on the cusp of something new. It was a new technology, and this was a new idea. A new way to play. A new way to live! But no, they didn't care. They only wanted hack and slash. They just wanted the players to murder their way through the story.

Hours. Weeks. Months of my life spent designing this world, building a history that made sense, a geopolitical structure that would actually survive, a development of the world that was realistic, and it was a waste. Three percent of players would get into the lore. That's what market research said. Might as well take it out and save the space. No need for everyone to have a rich and in-depth history. Who cares if the random NPC had an unrequited love in their teenage years? What did it matter if the feud between those two families was based on a lie to cover up an out-of-wedlock pregnancy? No one was going to figure out that the king's decree for the establishment of guilds was meant to re-balance power away from the nobility and back into the hands of the monarchy.

Oh, sure, those things were important. That's what they said. They added to the richness of the game. They'd make it feel more real. People love those kinds of background details. But only when they're in the background. They don't want that to be the focus of the game. No one wants to play a game where their decisions *actually* influence the world in unpredictable ways. They want a world that feels open, that feels like it responds to what they do, but they also want to be able to share their experience. They want to be able to talk about the missions. They want to be able to look online for help and tips when they get stuck. The world can't be truly open. It just has to be an illusion.

I railed at them. I yelled. I threatened to quit. I threatened to go public. They laughed at me. What was I going to do? Did I think that I'd somehow be exposing the company if I just told people that there were things that were going to be cut from the final game? Did they think people would be surprised? Modders might find the files and bring features back. But no one cares. There are no bodies to find, no wrongdoing. It's a decision the company is making, and it's not up to me.

I wasn't calming down. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I was pacing around my apartment, wanting to break something. Wanting to scream. Wanting to – I don't know what I wanted to do. I just felt this rage taking over my whole body, and I wanted to do something. For the first time I could remember, I was having truly violent thoughts. I wanted to wipe the smirks off those jerks faces. I wanted them to see what I saw. I wanted them to know the difference.

I wanted to release the real game, and let the public decide. I wanted to be vindicated. I wanted – I wanted to sit down.

There was a pain in my chest. I told myself it was indigestion. But I knew it was more than that. I knew that my anger had gotten the best of me. I knew that my heart wasn't going to take it this time. One attack put a lot of insult on my heart, but I had recovered. Only you never really recover; part of the heart is dead, and it never comes back. The second attack is usually worse. That's what they said. If I didn't let go of my anger, the second attack would do it.

That's why I was avoiding talk of violence. That's why I was designing a world at peace. A world that didn't need violence and mayhem. I was making something calm, something beautiful. I was making something nuanced and wonderful. And they were going to take it all away from me. They were going to pervert it into one more clone of the same old violent crap that has permeated gaming since it was done with pencils and dice.

I knew I should calm down, should breathe. But I couldn't. I just couldn't.

So I died angry.

That should've been the end. But instead, it was just the beginning.

***

My eyes open, and the light is very bright. It hurts. I can't really move. I know my limbs are moving, but they aren't responding to my desires. It's like a spasm. I open my mouth to say something, but only a wordless cry comes out. It's a strange sound. Higher pitched than I expected.

I turn my head and try to look around. It's exhausting. There are shapes that are probably people, but I can't make out details.

A lot of time passes like that. Sometimes I wake up hungry. Sometimes I am uncomfortable. It takes probably a month for me to figure it out, but eventually, it clicks into place what's wrong. I'm a baby. An infant. Not in the sense of acting like one; I mean my physical form is that of an infant. The other shapes are presumably my parents. Eventually, I’m able recognize them.

I'm alive again. A baby. I've been reborn. Reincarnation.

Why do I still remember everything? Maybe those memories will fade. Maybe I'll stop wondering about my cat, or about my 401k, or about my game. Maybe I'll forget the college I went to. Maybe I'll forget who I used to be.

I try to focus on my new life as time goes by. I work on moving, on trying to learn how my body works, figuring out my hands and my feet. I don't have any balance. It's so strange; I spent decades and decades walking without even thinking about it. If I wanted to go somewhere, I just decided to get up and move, and then I did. It's all so different now. New body. I need to learn it all over again, from scratch.

I slowly start to learn the language. It's a bit difficult as people who look at me tend to speak to me in baby talk, but I find that even baby talk has some benefit. I learn a bit more about how to form sounds and words, and slowly put together syntaxe and even grammar. When I start speaking, I stumble a bit, but it doesn't take long before I am making complete sentences and asking questions.

My name, it seems, is Harper. That's what the two people I identify as my parents call me. And what the other two people I identify as my siblings call me.

Time passes, and I get better at differentiating people, at controlling my body, and at basically being a person. I start walking and talking at an age that seems to surprise and impress my parents, but not so young as for them to think something is wrong with me. Certainly not so young that they suspect that I have the memories of my former life still.

I do come to realize that this isn't the world I lived in before. Or, at least, it isn't the same time period. There are no electronics, not even electric lights. When the sun goes down, we have to rely on candles or torches for light. From the smell and sound of it, the only real transportation technology is horses and carriages. But the differences don't stop there.

My parents run an inn, and the people who come through the inn are all manner of people, not all of them human. I'm human, which I honestly find a bit disappointing, but not all the customers are. Which makes it pretty clear that I'm not even in the same world that I used to live in.

I sometimes wonder if I imagined my old life. If I made up all these stories about subways, commuter expresses, websites, and laptops. If I imagined cell phones, k-pop, and social media. But as much as I think I am a clever and creative person, I don't think I'm *that* creative. There is nothing I see in this world that could inspire such imaginations, so I'm pretty sure I didn't make it all up.

When I turn three, I start helping around the inn. My help is frequently a zero-sum gain, as I am just as likely to make a mess as I am to clean one up. But my parents seem to appreciate me trying to help, and my siblings definitely like me lightening the load for them when I do, even if they shake their heads and say mean things when I mess up.

It's a pretty simple life. Strangely relaxing. I missed the complete lack of responsibility that comes with being a child, particularly a toddler.