evasion.”
“I can’t help it if that’s what happens in the book,” says Owen.
“Of course not,” says Josh. “But our job is to make it entertaining. Playable.” He shoots a look at his colleague, who stands up. “Over to Ryan for part two.”
“Well, we’ve got the kids he’s saving,” says Ryan, taking Josh’s place in front of the meeting table. “That’s great. But we want to complicate the mechanics in another way,” he adds. “Morally.”
Owen waits, as it is clear they are leading up to a talking point. He sees a few of the team members exchanging glances.
One of the older guys says, “We’re thinking the player character will have access to an arsenal and the ability to add to it, but they will also have a humanity bar tracking them. If they do good, their humanity meter goes up.”
“And violence lowers it,” says Owen.
Ryan is watching his face. “Do you see where we’re going with this?”
“Guns?” says Owen, feeling the start of a dull headache. “You want there to be shooting.”
“Well, it’s more active, for one,” says Ryan. “I guess the question is whether you can see your guy doing that. If necessary. Let’s say his family is threatened.”
“Maybe,” says Owen. “I guess I could see that.”
“Then once he collects the children, he’ll have to find enough money to buy the boat and make his way out to the water.”
“Maybe he fights his way through some panicked citizens?” suggests someone else.
“Look,” says Owen. “I’m not going to be okay with random murder, under any circumstances.”
“Noted,” says Ryan. He grins. “Thanks for being such a good sport about this.”
“We’ll show you the environment we’re working on,” says Josh, possibly to change the subject. He goes over to the desk on the far side of the room and holds up a large black headset. “Showtime.”
Everybody gets up and pushes in their chairs. Josh gestures to Owen to go first.
“Can we wipe it down?” says Owen when he gets close. “Can’t be too careful.”
Josh shrugs. “Sure.” He puts the headset back on the desk and rubs it all over with an antibacterial wipe.
“Sorry,” says Ryan. “He was supposed to do that anyway.”
Ryan and Josh both help Owen put on the headset, which completely covers his eyes, and a large set of headphones that engulf his ears. And all at once it is dark. Owen blinks and finds himself outside. It is nighttime, the darkness softened by streetlamps. He looks to the left and sees grey concrete scrabbled with graffiti. Owen steps forward and knocks into something invisible. The pain, in its incongruity, disappears for a moment but throbs back as though coming from far off, just like the suppressed chuckles he can hear in the real world.
“Sorry,” he hears faintly, followed by the sound of a desk chair rolling away. “Meant to move that.”
He is in an alleyway. A puddle ahead of him reflects the moon. When he tilts back his head, he can see it rising high above him, bright and cold, in a sliver of sky between buildings trimmed with fire escapes. In the distance are the sounds of sirens and traffic. And much closer, a whimpering. Owen turns the other way and sees someone huddled in the alley, crouched beside a dumpster. A child. A little boy, by the looks of it. Just about the age of Rachel’s son. He takes a small step in his direction, feeling queasy as the scene zooms forward more quickly than expected.
Breaking into his dream, he hears an instruction from Ryan: “Just move slowly. You’ve got lots of room.”
He hears the echo of his own footsteps, mismatched to his own stuttering pace. He is a soul in a new body, struggling to take control. And the little boy is ahead of him, still whimpering. Not looking up. As Owen draws closer to the child’s hiding spot, he feels a chill spreading across his shoulders and the overwhelming urge to speak to him.
When Owen is a foot or two away, the area around the boy begins to glow. He can make out a striped T-shirt and grimy arms and legs. The boy’s face is buried in his knees. As Owen reaches out to the boy, the soundscape changes abruptly. He can hear panicked shouts and footsteps approaching. He takes a step backwards before stretching a hand out to steady himself on the dumpster, but his fingers pass through and he stumbles to the side. There are the sounds of helicopters and approaching sirens, and a