The Decameron 2.0

Day 1.1: HEA Love - ARETHMORE MadMikeMarsbergen

With the drones searching the city for our DNA signatures, we passed through the deity-stoppered waterfall and entered the cave. The water flowed again once we were through. I set down my candy-filled backpack and leaned back against the refreshingly cool rock, bending out the soreness from my legs. "Alright, gang, this looks like a good spot to hide from Satan's army and spend the night trading tales of tragedy—"

The voice of the deity inside my head, which only I could hear, told me: You didn't get that one, my son. You got Happily-Ever-After tales.

"Damn, okay. God says these tales aren't tragic, people." The crew collectively slumped their shoulders and sighed. Tragedy was what we felt, and for good reason. Mr. Hardon, the group's psychotherapist, actually broke down and wept. I'd have to keep my eye on him. "These are stories of undying love, of love everlasting through the ages. So make yourselves comfy and do some thinking."

Seth and Coltrane—two hot studs with bitchin' bodies—ripped their shirts off and started making out.

"Hey, hey, easy, you two! Save it for the stories!"

They gave me matching stink-eyes and squeezed each other's thighs.

"Yeah, restrain yourselves. Helps build the tension. Anyway, who's up first? Anyone? We gotta pass the time somehow." I looked around at my group and saw matching slack-jawed, dead-eyed stares. Murv, the only guy in the group who voted Trump—the whole reason why we were on the run, actually—picked his nose, examined the blood-tinged golden booger to determine its nutritional value, and then sucked it off his finger. He caught me watching and smiled toothlessly. "Fine. I'll start," I said, giving my head a good shake. "Gather 'round, chew on some candy, and listen... My story is called

ARETHMORE by MadMikeMarsbergen

1

Punch in, slip on, drop out.

Holding a brand-new copy of Legacy of Arethmore, Harris once again read the video game's back-of-box description while it installed on his system. He'd read it at least ten times now. The big guy with the acne scars had said it was the best game ever. The reviews for it were all nines and tens—even from WeH8Games, who were notorious for their anti-game rhetoric. And every single one of the thirty people in line had had a copy of the game in their hands. This was gonna be great.

Harris' system played a victory song, indicating the install was complete. Thrumming with excitement, he saw the boot-up screen on his display: a noble knight, silver sword in hand, staring off into a swirling sunset of pinks and purples, his steel-grey armour painted with the pastel colours of the sky; by his side was a beautiful wench with red hair and a green gown. Just like the game's box art.

Since the cartridge had already been punched into the slot, the only thing left to do was to slip on the mask and enter the world of Arethmore. Harris grabbed the full-face mask, which looked more like a helmet, and tugged it over his head. It was a tight fit, but the spongy material lining the inside ensured it wasn't painful to wear—even for a five- or six-hour marathon session.

Really feeling like a knight, he transferred his system's display to the mask with a simple thought. The room around him disappeared, instead replaced with the desktop and the game's boot-up screen. Harris' eyes travelled to the PLAY button, directing the cursor as they did so, and he pushed it with his mind.

Immediately, diamonds, emeralds, rubies—gemstones of all kinds—rained down upon him and bounced off the black floor at Harris' feet. An enormous logo appeared, glittering, with the swell of strings and horns. GEMFLOW GAMES, it read, looking larger than life itself.