𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒 || ready player one [DISCONTINUED]

0001 - Game Start

As Kieran clears the end of the wave, the five of us get to our feet, cheering, waving our sarongs and towels above our heads. He collapses onto his board and rides out the current to shore. I follow the other girls down the beach to meet him.

Kieran isn't his real name or his gamer tag, just as Amelia isn't mine. We don't use those here. We picked out a name and there were no questions asked. I like it this way.

The Vacation Planet isn't my favourite place in the OASIS but it's one of the few places I actually go to nowadays. It's not that I don't have the coin to travel between planets – I have plenty from the real world – I just don't feel like it anymore. There are moments when I'm with my friends, most of whom spend all of their OASIS time on this planet as well, that I think of going back to the way I was, but every time that happens, I felt a tickle between my shoulder blades, and immediately shake it off like a clingy droplets of water.

One of my friends, Jennie, falls silent, then lets out a loud sigh. "I've got to leave to have dinner with my parents," she says, rolling her anime-girl-sized, violet eyes. Kieran and the girls groan as she gives everyone a quick squeeze before logging out.

I check the OASIS time and took off a few hours to accommodate for my differing time zone. "I should probably get going too, guys." Another collective groan. It isn't that I actually have anywhere to be, it's that spending so much time around these kinds of people and essentially not doing anything is surprisingly exhausting. "I'll be back as soon as I can, I promise." I'm lying.

Even though I need a break from all the cheerfulness and excitement, as soon as I take off my visor, I miss to perfectly white, sandy beaches and clear ocean of the Vacation Planet. The colours of my bedroom always fells so dull after coming out of the vibrant OASIS.

My friends probably think that I'm leaving to have lunch with the family. Most of them do at some point. They must have all have families like mine; traditional and, more importantly, wealthy. But in reality, it's eleven o'clock at night and my body is tired.

I unhook the chords from my boot suit that stop me from falling off the omnidirectional treadmill. Stripping off the suit, I change into my pyjamas and go into my en suite to wash up before I go sleep. I barely have it in me to close the blinds and turn off the lights before collapsing onto the bed.

☠

"Demelza!" I can only groan in reply to my mother's call. "Demelza-Leigh, are you still in bed?"

"Coming," I manage to get out before she opens my door without knocking, an annoying habit of hers.

"Staying up late in the OASIS isn't good for you, dear," Mother says, adjusting the blinds so that a little sunlight bleeds into my bedroom. "I don't want you going back to how you were a couple of years ago. You look so much better now."

"I know, Mother."

"Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes."

I struggle out of bed, trudge over to the en suite, wash my face, and get dressed. I brush my hair up into a ponytail and straighten out my bed before leaving the room.

Our family chef is an excellent cook. He has been with our family since I can remember. Still, I don't know why he bothers getting up to make the fifteen minute walk from his house to the family estate so early in the morning. I never understood how people could stomach meat from breakfast. So when he offers me some bacon, I politely pass and pick up a couple of slices of toast.

"Any plans for today?" I ask Mother, as she comes to sit next to me at the kitchen island, a steaming mug of tea in one hand and an electronic tablet in the other.

She shakes her head, not looking up from the news article she's reading. "I'm going to the office, got a couple of meetings. Your father and I are having lunch together. Then back to work this afternoon. Do you want to come?"

"To the office? Sure." It's not like I have anything better to do.

"I got you a present, my dear." My father enters the kitchen with a huge smile on his face.

Gifts from my parents are not uncommon, but most of them are based in the OASIS. So I am pleasantly surprised when my father places a box on the countertop next to my plate. I look up at him and smile, putting aside my toast, brushing the crumbs from my fingers, and pick up the box.

It's much heavier than I expected it to be. I lift the lid, let out a little gasp and then frown at the contents.

"It's lovely, but...why on earth would I ever need one?"

In the box is a gun, a newly manufactured one it seems because I don't recognise the model. When I lift it up with both of my hands, I can tell that it isn't loaded, but under a little tissue paper are a couple of boxes of bullets.

"In this day and age, the world's a dangerous place, Demelza." My father pats me on the shoulder. "I'd feel better if you were protected whenever you leave the house."

I release the magazine, load it with a couple of bullets and slide it back in. Pulling back the top of the gun, I smile to myself. I haven't held a gun for almost two years, and even then it was only in the OASIS. "I love it. Thank you."

"You look like you already know how to use one of those." I drop to my eyes and try to hide the smirk from my mother's concerned expression. "I won't ask."

☠

I don't enter the OASIS at all throughout the day. As boring as they might sound to anyone else, I sit in on all of my mother's meetings. I take the minutes and give suggestions when asked. Being the heir to this company doesn't necessarily mean that I have to take over as CEO when my mother retires, but I do want to stay in touch with company affairs as much as possible.

I come home a little after four, leaving my mother in the office to work for another few hours. Father left to visit another branch just across the US border after we had lunch and won't be home until later this week. Even though the chauffer comes to pick me up just outside the main office building in the centre of Vancouver, I keep my gun in the front pockets of my bag, just in case.

I eat something as soon as I get home, and probably again a little later. But I don't remember a great deal of what happens from this point until just after seven o'clock to following morning. I don't remember greeting my mother when she gets home. I don't remember getting changed and collapsing onto my bed once again.

Because none of that mattered when I wake up this morning, unlock my phone and see I have numerous messages from my friends about one thing.

After five years, Halliday's Scoreboard has finally changed. One name is sitting at the top next to a score of 10,000.

Parzival.