Simu-Life - I

When Amy woke up that morning, she felt odd. If you had asked her, she

wouldn't have been able to pinpoint it, but she would have known with

certainty that something was off. It had something to do with the way the

particles of dust reflected the sunlight coming through her window, the

way her breath didn't completely fill her diaphragm, even the way food

tasted a little bland, a little textureless.

Am I depressed? she wondered. Or is something seriously different today?

Fortunately, Amy's friends were supposed to be meeting for lunch. It was

an unusual time for them to hang out—normally, they opted for later

hours—but Bill texted them with some strange, cryptic news and said they

should head to Monica's bar ASAP. It was Sunday, so it wasn't like they had

work to do. They all showed up.

As soon as she arrived at the bar, Amy's feeling that something was off

magnified even more intensely. She looked around at the familiar hardy

wooden walls of Monica's establishment—the big crystal glasses filled with

amber drinks, the octagonal tables manned by the usual crowd. Instead of

absorbing the normal feelings of warmth and comfort she tended to

associate with Monica's bar, Amy felt overwhelmed with eerie

dissatisfaction. A cold air passed down her spine. Her skin prickled. She

wanted to get out immediately, but she didn't know where 'out' would be—

the whole world felt off.

Relief finally came when the rabbit saw her friends in the far corner.

They sat bunched together and spoke in the same convivial, frenzied tone.

"Hey, Amy," Bill called. "Over here."

"Yeah, Amy," repeated Mark. "C'mon."

Happily, she squeezed into the booth between Tim and Monica. They

passed her a bowl of poutine and lemonade, which would have made her

excited enough, but they also had a vegetarian burger for her.

"I was so hungry," Amy said, hearing her stomach growl. "How did you

know?"

Monica raised a playful brow. "When aren't you hungry?"

"Well, fair enough—"

"One second, Amy," Bill said, interrupting the pleasantries. "I hate to get

between you and your food, but I just need to introduce you to my friend

Chris. He's the one who has gathered us here today. Now that we're all

here, maybe we can get to it." He turned his attention to his friend. "Well,

Chris. Is it time?"

Amy craned her neck to see a young twenty-something tortoise wearing

technical glasses and a simple hoodie. He had a look of smug confidence,

and right away, Amy felt a spasm of distrust sweep through her.

Who is this guy? she wondered. He feels familiar somehow, and yet I don't

think I've ever met him.

"Ah, yes, thank you," said the tortoise, nodding his prematurely bald head

while looking intently at each of the friends. "Now, my name is Hanz

Christopher, but you can call me Chris. I work in tech and have been doing

so for many years. That's how I know Bill, of course—he's helped me build

a few knicks and knacks over the years—a brilliant man, for sure."

He flashed a slight smile before he continued. "Today, I have news not

just for Bill but for all of you. I'm here to tell you about a game I've

developed. If you'll take out your phones—" the tortoise paused while

everyone grabbed their devices out of their pockets and snapped back to attention— "

and install 'In The Game,' it'll tell you all the details. In short,

you will receive points for accomplishing tasks in your daily life. Whoever

has racked up the most at the end of the week wins. You'll be competing

against each other, okay?"

Amy surreptitiously glanced around the booth while she nibbled on her

burger. She was surprised by how unsatisfying her food tasted, but she was

even more taken aback by the reception this tortoise was receiving. All of

her friends seem enraptured by his presence. They watched him with their

mouths perched gently open, asking questions about the minutiae of how

the game worked.

Can't they see there's something off about this guy? wondered Amy. Am I

the only sane person here, or am I being completely unfair?

"So, the app's telling me I'll collect points whenever I exercise and go to

work." Ben looked around the table with narrowed eyes. "How will it

prevent me from cheating?"

"The app connects to your phone's GPS and other capabilities to

determine if you've actually been working," the tortoise replied. "Don't

worry. No one will get away with cheating."

"It also says we get points for treating each other well," said Tim. "What

does that mean?"

"You'll get the idea as we get the game going," said the tortoise, "but it's

pretty self-explanatory. If you make the people around you happy, your

phone will notice that and reward you with points. The more points, the

higher you'll go in the ranking system."

As everyone pelted the tortoise with questions, Amy felt increasingly

worse. There was something wrong here. She didn't know what it was, but she promised herself she would get to the bottom of it. With that thought,

she finished the last of her not-quite-right poutine and stood up on the not-

quite-right floor. She motioned that she was feeling sick and wanted to go

home, and her friends obliged her, messily moving out of the way while

keeping their eyes fixed on Chris. Only the tortoise paid her much attention.

The rabbit could feel his eyes nearly burning a hole through her back

while she exited the doors of the bar and headed for home, but she refused

to look back at his face.

I'm onto you, she thought. And I'm going to figure you out!

Amy straightened up and crossed her legs. She was sitting at her dining

room table surrounded by tea and a pad of paper, desperately trying to get

to the bottom of the situation. So far, she'd written down the six things that

seemed most odd to her.

1. Chris seems familiar to me, but I don't know why.

2. I have NO recollection of what happened last night, the day before I met

Chris.

3. I have an overwhelming feeling that everything around me (except for

my closest friends) is 'wrong' somehow.

4. I have no appetite for food—not even carrots.

5. No one else seems to think anything is out of the ordinary.

6. Already, it seems like EVERYONE is playing the game that Chris showed

us.

Amy looked at the list, trying to determine the underlying cause that

could link each of these separate points.

It could be that I'm paranoid, she thought. Maybe I've spent too much time

alone in the last few months, and it's finally getting to me. Should I just do

some yoga and try to relax?

The rabbit batted these thoughts back and forth, but ultimately her

senses were so buffeted by a sense of strangeness that she decided

something must be going on.

Maybe I'm noticing it because I'm extra sensitive, she thought. Writers tend

to notice things that others don't, after all. We're observant. But what am I

observing?

While Amy was considering this last thought, she received a text from

Ben.

Haha, it read. Even I'm doing better than you at the game!

Amy paused and opened the application on her phone. The bear was

right. He—along with the rest of their friends—was at the top of the

leaderboard for all of Nation-X. She, meanwhile, was doing extremely good,

but not compared to them. She was at the bottom of their friend group but

still near the top of the list.

How could it be that they were all at the very top of the scoreboard for all

of Nation-X? Was it just a coincidence? Was Chris giving them extra

points—favoring them somehow? And why?

Amy scrolled around online to see what people were saying about the

game. At first, there was some glitching on her smartphone—a lousy

internet connection, she supposed—but eventually, she read forums where

people speculated about what the winners of the game might receive and

how good the game had been for fellow feeling and general sales. Work

productivity was up, they said. So were gift purchases. Everyone was trying

to score as many points as possible.

Eventually, after enough research, Amy needed a break, and once she

finally admitted this, she realized how exhausted she was. The caffeine high

had run out. The tea was doing nothing for her. When had she last eaten?

Was it the unsatisfying poutine at the bar? She should probably eat more,

but the little leftover light that funneled through her window was starting

to disappear. It was time for bed.

When the rabbit woke up the following day, part of her wondered if

everything had returned to normal. Had her experiences merely been a bad

dream? Or, more likely, a result of inadequate sleep? For a brief instant,

Amy felt completely at ease—her breath came naturally and fully, and her

body hummed with the satisfaction of a good stretch. She squeezed her

favorite pillow toward her face and realized, with a distinct sense of doom,

that it felt unnatural—cheap, like an imitation.

Oh no, she thought. What in the hell is going on?

When Amy sat down to work at the co-working offices downtown, it was

worse. She tried to write out a template for her latest assignment, but all

she could concentrate on was how abnormal everyone seemed. She carried

out a few casual conversations with the people around her, but there was

one armadillo who walked by her cubicle three times and just said 'hey,'

each time.

That wasn't the strangest part about it, though—it was that he walked by

at the same speed, spoke with the same tone, and left with the same banal

enthusiasm. She'd seen this remote worker here before, no question. And

he often said hello. But three times?

What is he up to? the rabbit wondered. Does he know Chris? Are they

connected somehow? Does this have to do with the game?

Amy hated this feeling. She didn't want to play the detective. She just

wanted things to return to normal. This sense that things were just off,

slightly fake, somewhat vacant—it was getting to her. It was wearing her

down. And that's why she decided to text Monica.

Can we meet up? I need to talk as soon as possible.

Sure, Monica texted back. Is everything okay?

Not really. I… can't explain it here.

Oh, Amy, Monica wrote, come swing by the bar anytime. I'll have a warm

drink ready for you.

Amy smiled and texted back. You don't know how good that makes me

feel. I'm on my way.

The rabbit arrived at the bar within the hour, and, true to her promise,

Monica was waiting with a hot toddy and an empathetic smile.

"So, what's up?" the leopard asked with her trademark bluntness.

Amy realized with some relief that Monica didn't seem 'off' to her at all.

She seemed like the same old leopard as always. The main thing that was

different was that business was absolutely booming. It took some effort for

Amy to even reach the front counter where her friend waited.

"Wow," said Amy, feeling some hesitation now. "You're doing well for

yourself today, huh?"

"Absolutely," Monica beamed. "This must be the busiest Monday I have

on record."

"Oh."

Monica worked her eyes into a confused squint. "What is it? What's

wrong?" she asked, reaching to hold onto and comfort one of Amy's hands.

"I don't know how to explain it." Amy sighed and gestured at the other

people in the bar, at the walls, at the sky, at everything. "It all feels wrong.

Since yesterday morning, and especially after that meeting with Chris,

something has been amiss. Don't you sense it? Am I the only one?"

Monica was frowning at her with a look of concern. It was the type of

concern that suggested apprehension about Amy's mental well-being,

about her sanity.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked gently. "Have you considered the

possibility that you've been spending too much time alone lately?"

"Well, yes, I did think about that," said Amy, looking down at her drink.

"And what about sleep? Have you been sleeping properly?"

"I only got about five hours of sleep last night," said Amy, swallowing

nervously, "but that's because I was so stressed out about what I've just

described. Something's wrong, Monica!"

Monica took a deep breath and pulled the rabbit in for a long hug. After

some resistance, Amy relented. This felt good. It felt centering. Finally, the

rabbit could let some of the tension in her body dissipate into the

supportive cradle of another person.

"It's going to be okay," Monica reassured. "I can hook you up with an

excellent therapist. She's helped me a few times."

Amy, who had just been starting to feel a bit better, now flinched

backward. "A therapist? Don't get me wrong, therapy is great, of course, but

you really think I need therapy for this?"

The leopard tried to tread carefully. "Now, Amy, I'm not an expert, and I

don't know what's going on. But you don't seem well, and I'm just trying to

be as helpful as I can be."

The rabbit felt so many emotions moving inside her that she didn't know

how to react. This only became worse when Monica pulled out her phone

and quickly—nearly invisibly—popped open an app and glanced at the

screen.

Amy's voice went cold. "What did you just check there?" she asked.

Monica shook her head blithely. "Oh, just the game we've all been

playing. Just seeing how the standings are shaking up."

"And?" asked Amy. "How are they?"

"Well, to be honest," said Monica, half-playfully, half-seriously. "I've been

exercising so much, helping so many people out, and working a ton. So,

naturally, I've been at the top of the leaderboard, or at least I was at the top

of the leaderboard about an hour ago. I guess my failure to cheer you up

hasn't helped."

"Right," said Amy, clipping her words into short responses. "Who's on top

now?"

"Bill." Monica smiled again, seemingly unaware that Amy was even more

upset than when she came to the bar. "I was ahead of him when I ran to

work this morning, but he's been producing new inventions at a breakneck

speed. I think he's working on them while he runs on a treadmill."

"Uh-huh," said Amy. "Do you think it's strange that all of our friends are

at the top of the scoreboard?"

Monica paused. "You know you're not, right, Amy?" She said it in an

apologetic tone as if this were terrible news she was delivering.

"Not surprised," said Amy. "I haven't been playing. But the rest of our

friends? How do you think they all managed to be at the top of the list?"

"I don't know," said Monica, starting to lose focus. "All I can say is that if

you ever need help, my previous offer still stands. I know a therapist. But

for now, I need to get back to work. Try to loosen up a bit, okay? Go for a

run. Make some good food. Plan how to be more productive at work. Just

make sure you don't drag everyone around you down. It'll hurt your

scoreboard standings, and I want to see you at the top."

"Right…" said Amy unconvincingly.

"Well, see you next time."