The screen shut down and I blinked at the sudden intrusion of light into my psyche. All around me my shitty studio apartment had become something else.

Cyberpunk?

It was all magnetic strips and neon lights as far as the eye could see. Pearl blue strips ran at intervals along the floor and ceiling, intersected by ruby reds running perpendicular to them. My closet had been replaced by a sleek black rectangle, and nothing in the kitchen appeared as it should’ve.

And my fricking window glass had been changed out with a humming semi-transparent tinting system. Spitting, static-crackling energy fields.

I headed over to peer out.

Outside, barely visible through the fuzzy tan overlaying the windows, was a spiky, neon vista that made no sense. My apartment was on the second floor… but this? I had no idea how far up I was now.

I was seeing a layer of fog at ground level, and the tops of far-off buildings, with floating signs in a language I didn’t speak. Large holograms danced from the rooftops of this building or that, a variety of products ranging from the toothbrush levels of mundane to the more exciting and sexual crack and shine of body-forming leather; it was a 3D catalog that screamed its wares in every direction that I could see.

“Patches, buddy?” I asked. Patches, as always, was there, tail thumping against my leg. “We’re not in Colorado Springs anymore.”

A hollow pinpoint of pain needled in behind my right eye, causing it to shake and twitch. It’d rise up and give me a migraine if I wasn’t careful. It was time to med up.

I needed coffee. Bad.

I cast about, trying to make heads or tails of the place. Almost everything had transformed into sleek plastic, thin metal casing, and buttons.

So many buttons.

In fact, the only bit of furniture that was in the same place was Patches’ doggo bed. But whereas before his pet bed had been a ragtag Dog Sleeper Special that I got for a buck from a yard sale, now it was a plasti-metal contraption that said Pet Containment Unit - Relaxation Plus. And that one, too, had a hazy tan field radiating out over its open parts, just like the windows of my apartment.

I stumbled over to the kitchen area, the hollow point behind my eye expanding, and I eyed the bizarre mess of lights, reformed appliances and the familiar looking square recess slotted into the wall next to where I’d previously hung my 1974 Girls of Sweaty Summer calendar.

It took a moment, but I slapped my forehead when I realized what exactly I was looking at.

“A replicator?” I asked the air before me, astounded. I put my hands on the counter, surprised at how smooth and clean it was while behind me Patches cocked his head and stared.

“Earl Grey, hot,” I tried, enunciating the words in the best Picard impression that I could muster. Inside of me a teenaged mega-nerd clenched his fists in anticipation, dancing a jig and staring wide-eyed. I licked my lips, imagining the beautiful future to come.

“Please transfer 50 credits,” a female voice responded. I groaned and my inner teenager punched a wall.

This was a whole lot of horse hocky.

I looked around, trying to find my coffee maker. Nothing was recognizable anymore. And if you think I might have been able to find it based on where it always sat, forget it. I used to be the kind of guy whose coffee pot moved with him.

For all I knew I’d last plugged it into the power strip by my computer.

It didn’t stop me from trying though. I moved up on a square black cube that had a bunch of buttons over on the one side and I hit the first one. It quaked and grumbled, then shot out steam. Promising.

A slot opened up and a fresh shirt popped out.

“Son of a motherless goat,” I growled.

Next, I ran my hands over a cylindrical object about as big as a flashlight. I clicked it, and it shot soapy detergent all over my counter, the scent of lemon-breeze filling the room.

I sighed and gave it up. Maybe there was some game thing I could do to get my coffee. I mean, it couldn’t hurt to check it out.

Part of me was surprised at how calmly I was taking it all. Wake up, be in a game, just accept it and make yourself a character? Most people would be freaking out.

I shrugged. Most people weren’t like me. Wasn’t really worth investigating. Pushing with my brain I opened up my character screen with its myriad of tabs and subscreens, and started looking about for something, anything, that might get me caffeinated.

There was a tab for equipment. When I opened it, the thing was well on empty because of course it was. No dice there.

I moved back to the main and hoped beyond hope that there might be some sort of crafting skill. Or, hell, a spell of some sort. Despite, you know, the system telling me in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t going to happen.

Clicking, and poking, I ran into bullcrap, then more bullcrap, before poking the face of my avatar and finding myself face-to-face with the prospect of entirely changing what I looked like.

I’d been through enough video games as a kid to know all about feature customization. It was chock full of options, starting with my gender, to hair, face size and shape, nose shape, eye color, ear shape, scars and tattoos, the works.

“Ohhh-kayyyy,” I said, and reached up to adjust the size of my nose, which had been broken twice. A little reduction in size would be nice. The menu hovering in front of my face had a little checkmark next to an X: Accept or Decline. I decided the new nose looked good and pressed the green checkmark.

Let me tell you something about pain. I’ve been fucking shot. I got burned while on camping trips when you’re too close to the campfire and you’re not thinking about wearing polyester, but you are, and suddenly your leg’s on fire.

Surgery, no problem, Try having your fingers reattached. Been there, done that. I eat surgery recovery for breakfast.

Nothing’s worse than trying to run when you’ve got a bullet lodged literally anywhere in your body, or lying on a hospital bed with a nurse soaking your leg every thirty minutes with cool saline solution. Literally five minutes after she does, your leg has transformed back into molten fucking lava.

So when I say adjusting my nose is some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced, it means something. It was like my sinuses came alive and transformed my nose into putty. Tears squirted from my eyes, and I yelled in pain and frustration.

A little warning box would’ve been nice. Maybe with some red exclamation marks and a couple of skulls.

I shook my head and backed out of the avatar customization screen. That pain was not worth it, no matter how good I could use it to make myself look. It showed me in full profile and I peered closely, checking myself out in a way that I’d never been able to do before.

The nose job did a right good trick. Looked good without that hump in the middle. And I noticed that the clothes on my body had stats, which was news to me. Mentally selecting the items, I was able to zoom in on their stats and game data.

I started with my boxers. They were a striped affair, green and gold, with the logo of the Green Bay Packers over on the side.

Green Bay Boxers (underneath other item of clothing. Effects do not stack)

Armor: 0 physical, 0 energy

0% resistance to anything but getting laid

When wearing Ugly Boxers in plain sight, subtract 1 from Charm

‘Cheap, old and crusty. That’s how I like it! Always have a spare pair handy in the glove compartment and at the office.’

I chuckled at the cheeky description, and found I could side panel the whole screen, letting me finally see what the hell I was doing while I was in there. I roamed around my apartment, finding the discarded pile of clothes that I’d discarded the night before.

At least those hadn’t changed.

I had a Trench Coat

Armor: 10 physical, 5 energy

+25% resistance to fluid-based attacks

+50% weapon concealment

‘Made to weather the hell of war, this old and dignified jacket continues to shelter its wearers from the elements.’

Tattered Jeans

Armor: 5 physical, 0 energy

0% resistance

‘Be the envy of your neighbors by wearing torn and ill-formed clothing. It’s the newest trend!’

T-shirt

Armor: 5 physical, 0 energy

0% resistance

‘It’s a shirt that keeps you cool. Don’t think about it too much.’

Dress shoes

Armor: 5 physical, 0 energy

0% resistance

‘Scuffed leather shoes that are good for walking in. But don’t expect them to help you much in a fight.’

I nodded when looking over the stats on my clothing. Standard noob starter gear. The only thing that was really missing was a branch to hit things with.

With my game screen held to the right-side panel, I investigated the rest of my apartment. A sharp rap with the meat of my palms opened the cupboards in the starship bridge that was my kitchen.

After that I found I was able to pick things up and then see what their names in the side panel it my item info window. I managed this by picking up and allowing it to identify a coffee mug, a shot glass, and an empty water bottle in quick succession.

A sharp pang blazed through my eye. I still hadn’t gotten the coffee.

I placed the coffee mug in my inventory, nestling it neatly into one of a myriad of hash marked boxes. I wasn’t sure, but it looked like inventory might not just be limited by weight. It might be space-limited as well.

Then I worked my way through a handful of wands, boxes, and rods, all properly filled with buttons, before finally finding one that my system info labeled as ‘coffee-maker’. Like the detergent wand, it too was shiny black.

I placed my mug down on the counter and gleefully aimed this particular rod at the cup, pushing the button with tremendous glee. I flinched when it made a grinding noise, but pushing the second button got me coffee. Dark black, with an aroma richer than ever.

Too bad it shot out as a high-pressure jet that sprayed all over my newly soaped-up counter. I attempted to jockey its spray into my cup and promptly burned my forearm, taking a stunning 15 points of expresso-dousing damage.

That really hurt.

And when I had the coffee in the cup, steaming properly and ready for that first sip, I put the coffee maker into my inventory. I’d really like to have it with me for all of the foreseeable future.

Then I took a seat in a deep-bottomed swivel chair the like of which I’d never before seen in my life, and I finally drank down a hot, tongue-burning gulp. And sighed harder than I ever had before.

Because in a game or out of it, life without coffee would be hell.