Nina rolled her eyes. Why Marsh thought she should be invited to their hangouts, she didn’t know. Since they graduated from high school, this had been their thing: no matter where they were in the world, one virtual hangout every Sunday night. Every time Amorie dropped by it felt like a foul desecration of a sacred ritual. Her presence was a sign that they had grown too old, too far apart—even though Scooter and Nina hadn’t moved forty-five minutes from their hometown, and only Marsh was half a world away, on another coastline entirely. The purchase of these VR headsets had been their last chance to salvage a night they had long grown bored with. 

“Maybe I’d get used to it if you guys didn’t pick all those fast-paced games,” Nina retorted, and the boys laughed and cajoled her. Their shit-talk made her smile. It always did. “Pick something fun but not nauseating.” 

“Ooh, she wants something fun, does she?” Scooter chuckled. “Let’s see what I’ve got here…”

Through her visor, Nina could see the VR meeting room, a blue expansive space where thin white lines intersected and loud Nightcore-esque music played. Their three characters, each resembling bowling pins with floating, disjointed limbs, gathered in front of her. Scooter’s character, distinguished by his black hair and cartoonish eye-bags, turned away from the group and reached forward, his hand smacking at nothing. A white menu, comically large like a Rolodex for a god, sprang to life from the nothingness, filled with colorful photos of games and teeny titles underneath. The font was so small on this damn thing that Nina could never tell what she was looking at, but Scooter played this constantly, so she always defaulted to him to select something. She tried to ignore Marsh and Amorie’s characters giggling and grinding against one another. Amorie kept glitching as she bent over to grab her thin ankles while Marsh slammed into her from behind. How they managed to make nonsexual bodies so lewd disgusted Nina on a spiritual level. 

Ugh, another wave of nausea. She lifted her headset ever so briefly to grab a drink from her emotional support water bottle, then resumed the game. Amorie and Marsh had now gathered behind Scooter, looking up at the array of games he was flipping through.  

“Where’s the one where you cut the fruit?” Amorie asked. 

Nina had never seen her in real life, but for some reason, she always pictured Amorie as a mouth breather, lips perpetually parted after every sentence as though talking caused all the oxygen to leave her body and made her brain tingle from numbness. 

“That’s Fruit Ninja,” Marsh said. “Ten years too old for this system.” 

“Ohh.” 

“Didn’t you mention that there was some cottagecore fantasy game you wanted to check out?” That sounded like a pleasant evening. Building houses in the gentle woods, with no fear of monsters. Sitting around a campfire and pretending like she could feel the warmth of the flames against her hands and her friends' bodies beside her shoulders. “I’d be down for that.” 

Marsh clicked his tongue. “Ehh, I don’t really want to build anything right now.” 

“We’ve been playing too much Stardew Valley,” Amorie said. 

“Maybe next time?” Scooter suggested. “I’ve got something special to check out, anyways.” 

The menu stopped on a photo that was pitch black. Nina squinted to read the title.

SIMULATED_CEMETERY. 

“Spooky!” Amorie giggled. “That sounds perfect!”

“What is this?” Marsh asked. “Did you build it, Scooter?” 

“Yeah! I took some environment files off  Sketchfab to play around with.” 

“Wait,” Nina said, “so this isn’t a game? It’s just a level design?” 

“Yeah, but it’s a massive one. And you’ll like these renders, Nina. They're incredible. I added some bug and bird models to make it feel more alive.” 

“We can try it,” Marsh said. “Maybe it’d be best to keep it short tonight, anyways. Amorie and I were thinking about catching a late-night showing of Hereditary at the art cinema.” 

“You dorks would actually spend money going to see a movie you can stream?” 

“It’s in 4K.” 

“Okay,” Nina interjected, irritation taut in her voice. “Let’s go, then. Start it up, Scooter.” 

Scooter pressed his hand against the black image, and then suddenly they were all immersed in a dark void, with no sense of direction and no music. Amorie and Marsh giggled and chased each other across the virtual environment, effortlessly scaling nonexistent walls and scrolling from side to side. In her own reality, Nina squatted and sat down on her exercise ball, trying to control her breaths. This was always the worst part of this system: no formal loading screens, only infinite darkness. 

Then suddenly they were free falling, their characters spiraling down onto the murky gray map below. Instinctively Nina leaned down, stomach gurgling with frustration, as she watched her character hurtle closer and closer to the earth. A flash frame later and then she was there, feet on cracked concrete, her eyes staring at a few millipedes inching their way to her toes. She grimaced and stomped on them, but they phased right through her feet. 

“Grody,” she said. 

“Nina,” Scooter laughed. “Look over here.” 

She jerked her head up and over, and her eyes widened at the expanse before her. Scooter had shown them his games and level designs before, but this was by far the most detailed environment she had ever experienced. Arrays of mausoleums and tombstones, weathered from age and stained from decades worth of rain, stretched out before her. One small plot of grass remained unoccupied. An iron wrought fence that was probably ten feet high separated the cemetery from the shadowy woods, consisting of a diverse array of firs, elms, and oaks. Looking from left to right, she could see an endless asphalt road stretch into a misty horizon; through the clouds, a charming little red farmhouse sat, probably out of bounds. It was more picturesque and gorgeous than real life could ever be. 

Then again, Nina didn’t know for certain. She had only visited a cemetery once before. 

“Holy shit,” she breathed, and Scooter cackled with excitement. “Holy shit!” 

“This won't fry my computer, right?” Marsh grumbled, taking a few tentative steps into the cemetery. “What engine is this? Unreal?” 

“You think Unity could pull this off?” Scooter traipsed after him, and they wandered between the aisles of graves. “Or Godot, for that matter?” 

“Don’t be a dick. This could totally be CryEngine.” 

“When was the last time anyone used CryEngine?” 

“2017? For Prey?”

“That’s forever ago in game dev years. Unreal all the way, baby.” 

“Nina, tell him that CryEngine isn’t that old.” 

Nina pressed down on her control triggers and slowly pushed her way into the cemetery. She didn’t know how they could move so effortlessly. Operating this thing sometimes felt like driving the forklift at her old Home Depot job: hovering above ground, slowly inching forward, arms outstretched to grasp at things that weren’t there. When playing VR, she felt like a passenger in her own body. 

“Nina?” Marsh prompted again, tense. 

“I don’t know enough about any of the engines.” 

Unlike them, her interest in game development was just a hobby. She only occasionally played around in Naninovel and RPGMaker. Constructing a 3D environment was the kind of arduous task that Scooter was good at. She just wanted to write stories about gorgeous long-haired men smooching on her (and each other) in an isekai world. 

Marsh abruptly turned away from her. She couldn’t see him doing it (their character models simply didn’t have those functions) but she knew he was shaking his head at her in disappointment. Thankfully, she was too distracted to give his childish attitude any thought. The attention to detail here was immaculate. Beneath her feet she could see grains of gravel, each outline clearly visible. It wasn’t some stretched out jpeg texture; everything here had been individually modeled. Even the gravestones had unique names chiseled into them, along with epitaphs and year counts that contrasted one another. Wanda Willows, 1913-1980. Quincy Montgomery, 1935-1967. Miranda Johnson— 

—she stopped dead in her tracks. Miranda Johnson? Miranda Johnson. Clear as day. And the years aligned. Chills ransacked her body. Had Scooter put this in here as some sick little Easter egg? Just before she was about to demand what the hell this was doing here, Amorie interrupted. 

“Can you go inside these?” she asked as she floated over to one of the mausoleum doors. 

“One of them, yeah. I forget which one though.” Scooter approached the other structure beside hers, then pushed on the door. “Nope, not that one.” 

Nina took a deep breath. Miranda Johnson was an extremely common name. The years inscribed below could’ve been coincidental. She didn’t want to spiral into some accusatory rant that would further add to the tension within their already fragile friendship. Instead, she bit her tongue and joined them in going door to door, spamming buttons in an attempt to open a building. The second one that Nina approached creaked open, although she could swear she hadn’t pressed the button yet. 

Scooter cheered. “Keena Nina strikes again!”  

Inside was a descending tunnel lit only by torchlight. Flames twinkled as they passed, echoes of orange embers blending with their shadows on the walls in an effortless watercolor. Rows of circles were etched into the stone walls like scales. Above one landing, an archway stood, a menacing gargoyle head mounted to its center. It bared its teeth at all those who approached, stone eyes forever encased in blistering rage. Unsettling feelings—or perhaps more nausea—bubbled in the pit of Nina’s stomach as she proceeded down the steps after her friends.

“So, someone built this? And posted it to a gallery for free?” Marsh asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?” Marsh stopped to inspect the inscriptions on the walls, written in what Nina could only assume was Latin. “Doesn’t this mean anyone can use it for their games now?” 

“Under the license, you’d have to credit them for their work,” Scooter said. “It’s just something to play around in. People like to show off their art, y’know?” 

“But for free? This had to have taken weeks.” 

“You can’t make people pay for your portfolio. You’re just supposed to have one. How do you work in this industry and not know that?” Scooter grabbed one of the torches off the wall. “Once I add some more things into this environment and get a little story going, I think I'll add it to my itch.io page.” 

“Isn’t that stealing?” 

“Again, not if I give them credit. Is your head up your ass, bro? Why aren’t you listening to me?” 

“You guys-uh, stop arguing,” Amorie whined. “Scott, what’s down here, anyways?” 

“We’re getting to it. Just a little further down.” 

Around and around they went in a hypnotizing spiral. Nina counted each landing they passed. Six, seven, eight… Whoever had designed this place was deeply dedicated to their craft. Most indie developers would stop after the second or third staircase. The further down they went, the louder their footsteps and voices echoed. All the while, Nina had to fight the queasiness that rumbled in her stomach, low like thunder.

When they had finally reached the bottom, a massive set of wooden doors greeted them, with iron door knockers nearly half the size of their heads. The mahogany that comprised them was so deep and rich they might as well have been made from chocolate. Nina's fingers traced the individual grooves of wood on their surface. Oddly enough, she thought she could feel the little bumps, although she knew her hands were grasping the controllers. 

Scooter pushed open the door, revealing a chamber. There was an ornate red rug, several paintings mounted to the walls, and pieces of Renaissance-era furniture; tufted armchairs and hand carved wooden pieces galore. 

“So, I think that whoever built this wanted it to be like, a secret spooky cave for a boss vampire or something,” he said as he led them inside. “Pretty cool, right?” 

“It’s so pretty,” Amorie murmured. “And very Skyrim.” 

“I was going to say Morrowind,” Nina mumbled. 

Marsh drifted over to a dresser. He pulled open the drawers and peered inside, fumbling through boxes of clothes. “I bet the dude who made this works for Bethesda or something.” 

“Guys, come look at this.” 

Everyone gathered behind Scooter, who stood in front of a wardrobe at the wall opposite from the entrance. His character cracked open the doors and sat inside, closed it, then exited. 

“That’s not going to take you to Narnia, Scoot,” Marsh said, and Amorie giggled. “What’re you doing?” 

“I can’t hear you guys when I go inside the wardrobe,” Scooter said, laughing. “Try it.” 

Marsh stepped inside and closed the doors. “Guys? Hello?” 

Nina was confused. His voice sounded muffled, edited as though it was in-game audio, but when they spoke to each other over the headset, it was normally clear. This wasn’t Phasmophobia; this was just a simple level design. No audio effects should’ve been inputted into these files… unless Scooter had done something and was trying to prank them, but from the excitement in his voice, it seemed like he hadn’t planned this. 

Marsh stumbled out into the open. “Goddamn, it’s like a sensory deprivation chamber in there. I can’t even open the menu.” 

“I think it was supposed to connect to another area, or another map, and that’s why it’s all glitched out like this. Cool, isn’t it?” 

“If by cool, you mean terrifying.” 

“I want to give it a shot!” Amorie declared, propelling herself inside the wardrobe. 

The doors closed behind her. For several moments they waited. 

Scooter nudged Marsh, chuckling. “She’s sick and tired of hearing your voice. That’s why she ain’t leaving.” 

The doors didn’t budge. Marsh attempted to open them, but it only elicited a knocking sound; the telltale sign that something was locked. 

“Amorie?” Marsh tried the doors again. “Aww, shit. She’s stuck. We’re going to have to restart the game.”

A cry, high-pitched and dripping with terror, split through their headsets. Nina’s controller-holding hands flung up to cover her throbbing ears. Distorted audio intercepted Amorie’s voice, which dispersed into shuddering sobs. 

“Amorie!” 

“Dude, why are you yelling? Aren’t you in the same room as her?” 

“No, she’s at her place. Amorie! What’s going on?” 

A loud CRASH-THUMP, like the sound of someone knocking over furniture. Another surprised squeal that accelerated into a scream. Amorie spoke words but all that came out was garbled radio fuzz and more tears. It was like she was on a highway in the middle of nowhere and her cell connection had cut out.

“Fuck,” Marsh said. “Can we pause?” 

They listened to the sounds of Marsh removing his headset, the soft clunk of him setting it on his desk. Faintly, Nina could hear him calling Amorie’s number, murmuring to himself to stay calm while he waited for her to answer. 

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Scooter asked, but he didn’t wait for a reply. “Why the hell would he invite her? She doesn’t even regularly play games like we do.” 

For some reason, Nina felt defensive. “She’s Marsh’s girlfriend. We should be nice.” 

“Yeah, we can be nice, but does she have to come to this? We haven’t needed another girl in the group since Miranda.” 

There it was. The scarcely mentioned fourth friend. Even though she was ostensibly missing from their get-togethers, she was always on their minds. For some reason this whole ordeal reminded Nina of the night they lost her. Marsh mumbling on the phone in the background, trying to talk to the police. Scooter disassociated and yet his voice thick with emotional tension. And Nina, trying to play the peacemaker, trying to keep them all calm, trying to ignore the fact that they had found her swinging from the branches in her backyard fifteen minutes too late. 

She had taken down their tire swing in order to do it. 

“Did you put her into the game?” Nina whispered. 

“What are you talking about? Who?” 

“Miranda.” 

“What?” 

“There’s a gravestone outside that had her name and—” 

The wardrobe door creaked open, but Amorie wasn’t inside. Instead a distorted character figure, completely pitch black and faceless, had taken her place. It sat cross legged in the center. Just the sight of it made the hairs on Nina’s arms stiffen with fright. You couldn’t cross your legs like that in VR. It wasn’t possible.

“What the fuck is that, Scooter?” 

Although it made no effort to move from its resting place, she backed away. Its head hung low between its shoulders, as if it was staring at the ground, as if its neck was broken— 

—no Nina, don’t think about that. 

“Uh, I’m not sure?” Scooter tried to play it off casually, but she detected the fear in his voice regardless. He retreated beside her. “Could be a glitch. Maybe a missing character model?” 

“I thought this was just a level design.” 

“Sometimes random files sneak their way in.” 

“And you didn’t put it here?” 

“No. It took forever just to figure out how to get this to load in VR.” 

A jumpcut. The figure uncrossed its legs, its hands firmly placed on the edge of its seat. Its head was now raised, staring directly at them. No, staring directly at Marsh, whose abandoned character model stiffly stood, completely oblivious to what was going on. 

Nina called his name, but it was useless. Without the VR headset on, he couldn’t hear them. But his microphone continued to pick up sound. His voice was low, droning, like buzzing bees outside a festering hive of honey. The glitch unsteadily lurched forward, moving like a possessed marionette, its arms wide, its neck twisting. 

Nina nudged Scooter. “Close the game. Now.”  

“I can’t open the menu. I think it’s going to crash.” He audibly gulped down a nervous lump in his throat. “Can you relax? You’re freaking me out.” 

Suddenly the figure stood completely erect. Its hand snapped to Marsh’s shoulder. And over the speaker, they could hear the confusion in his voice. “What’s going…” was the most that Nina could make out, before a blood-curdling scream erupted. In front of them Marsh’s character crumpled pixelated brick by brick, his knees snapping and bending under him, his head swiveling in an erratic, fast-moving circle. His mouth melted to the end of his chin and kept stretching until it reached the floor. His pupils bled with the cartoonish corneas of his eyes, spreading outwards, goring the little avatar from the outside-in. All the while, the mysterious glitch kept its hand pressed to Marsh’s disappearing shoulder. 

Nina screamed his name again, but she knew it was too late. Whatever was in the room with them here was in his reality, was in all their realities. The room began to flicker around them, and a blackness, like a virus, slowly began to eat away at this existence. She ran, Scooter following close behind. He dropped the torch as they made their way up the second flight of stairs. It clattered against the floor in an explosion of sparks before being swallowed by the ever-encroaching void. Behind them they could hear the footsteps of the figure, stuttering like clicking noises on a typewriter, horrifically close and disorientingly loud. 

“Why is this happening, Scooter?” 

“I don’t know!”

“Bullshit, Scott! You know!” 

Nina collapsed onto the floor and shrieked in terror, only to realize she hadn’t fallen in the game; she had fallen off the exercise ball in her bedroom. She scrambled to reorient herself, leaping to her feet. He called to her, begging her to stay with him. They sprinted as fast as their virtual bodies would allow. Sweat poured down Nina's forehead, causing the screen to flicker. 

“The level designer might’ve been dead! That’s all I know!” He stumbled up a step, panting through gritted teeth. “There might have been this black, in-memoriam banner on his page or something—” 

“—You’re stealing a dead person’s work?!” 

“For the third time, this is a Creative Commons license! Attribution required!” 

“Yeah, but are you allowed to fuck with it?! You’ve already changed it!” 

“Oh my God,” he gasped. 

In a split second, he disappeared from her peripheral vision. She whipped around to find him standing tall at the mouth of darkness, calling down to the rushing figure below. 

“Bro! I’m sorry! I won’t remix your shit!” 

Mesmerizingly, the figure snapped in front of him, its hand outstretched. At its touch, Scooter instantaneously collapsed, and he shrieked in agony. Red erupted over his ivory-colored body, eclipsing the clothes he had lovingly equipped and designed so long ago, when they had first started this whole mess. Nina could ignore the gurgling of her stomach no longer. Hot bile, ripe with acid, eviscerated the back of her throat like thousands of little knives, covering her hands, dribbling down the front of her shirt, flooding the spaces between her toes. Too dizzy, she couldn’t hope to turn around and move anymore. Sobbing, she threw the controllers on the ground and removed her headset just before Scooter evaporated from existence. 

Standing across from her was the same figure, her limp head swinging between her shoulders. Without the fuzziness of the in-game vision, her features were slightly more defined. There was that soft ski-slope nose Nina remembered, the braided fishtail that had trailed down the center of her back, and—same as the day they found her—the outline of a polo shirt collar and pleated skirt. Still no eyes or mouth, but she didn’t need them. Her arms stretched outwards, inviting her for an embrace that said everything she needed to. 

Suddenly Nina didn’t feel sick anymore. Tears welled in her eyes as she stumbled forward to meet it. “Nothing’s been the same without you.” 

In the game, all the characters were gone, but the system did not return to the main menu. The camera, now distracted by its lack of participants to lock onto, floated upwards, clipping through the floors and stairs, out of the mausoleum, climbing higher into the sky. In the cemetery’s empty plot, four more tombstones materialized.