Chapter Text
Today, on a day exactly like every other, Gordon finds himself on the couch in his living room, staring blankly up at the ceiling. In the background, his copy of Animal Crossing: New Horizons idles on the television screen, pro controller discarded on the floor beside him.
On the screen, his character, who looks like some cartoonish caricature of himself, sit on a tree stump outside his house, swinging his feet with a cheery smile on his face. Harsh winds shake the trees around him, a thunderstorm raging as bugs hop towards the colorful shape of one of his villagers observing a hybrid flower.
The game is a little uncanny these days, but at least he can't hear it when characters call him by name. Maybe he should have made something up, some alternate persona or creation of his own aesthetic interests. But that's a little too outside his creative scope. Until recently, he couldn't even decide on a favorite color—and he's still not sure he even likes the color orange, or if he just can't get it out of his head. Either way, that's the color his character is predominantly wearing. He thinks he might hate it.
Everything has felt that way recently—does he like anything, or does he just pass the time with whatever he can tolerate, whatever doesn't set him off somehow? He's logged hundreds of hours in Animal Crossing and he's not sure if he's actually enjoyed any of it, or if it's just so distinctly inoffensive that it's all he can stomach anymore.
Picking himself up, he puts the Switch to sleep, sitting there with his face in his hands, one metal, one flesh. He lets out a low sigh, drags his hands down, and stares at his living room. It's a mess created by procrastination, exhaustion, and overall neurological difficulties. Empty cans of tea and coffee, old takeout boxes, a sock he accidentally tossed too far away and never bothered retrieving, empty wrappers discarded everywhere. It's been getting worse, but he can't convince himself to do anything about it.
As Gordon gets up, kicking some bottles out of his path, he heads into the kitchen nearby for a drink. That's where he finds his phone, resting beside a half empty jar of mayonnaise in the fridge door where he apparently left it. That it wasn't in his pocket didn't even occur to him. Pushing his thumb into the button, he glances over his notifications, surprised to find a few missed calls and a text. His heart sinks when he sees who it's from.
It would be so easy to just turn his phone off and go to bed, pretend he didn't see it. It's not like he's opened it yet. But this is the type of person who will physically manifest in his house if he doesn't respond, and he really doesn't want to host any guests right now.
Carrying his drink back to the living room, he sits heavily in the center of the couch. As he takes a sip, he ponders whether he's in the mood to make a phone call, or willing to gamble with a text being enough. But he doesn't get to make that choice, as his phone starts buzzing in his hand. Speak of the devil…
With a deep sigh, he sets his drink aside to answer the phone, groaning under his breath when his metal fingers fail to work the touch screen. Seems like he'll never be able to break that muscle memory.
"Hey, mom," he speaks into the receiver, phone held flat as he lets her voice come through on speaker.
What ensues is a verbal lashing the likes of which he dreaded receiving. The usual lecture about the fact he didn't pick up her calls, refusing to believe he honestly didn't have his phone on him—or charged, or on, or he was asleep, it's always something, which she loves to point out for him. He has no choice but to just wait for her to calm down and get to the point.
"Why didn't you go to your appointment this morning?" his mother demands, her voice stern and obviously angry with him. "You do realize I get charged even when you don't show up."
"Yeah, that's unfortunate," he says, struggling to hide the exasperation and sarcasm in his voice.
"Gordon, you can't keep doing this," she presses. "We're trying to help you, it's like you're not even trying."
"Mom, all that guy ever does is try to put me on ten different meds and talk about how I'm 'trying to cope with trauma with a video game from my childhood'—I've never even played that game before! None of you believe me when I say what happened, what's the fucking point?"
"Gordon—"
"Just cancel it," he snaps, his anger burning hot in his chest until he finds himself restlessly bouncing his leg. "That guy's a hack anyway."
He hangs up after that, his hand shaking as he shuts the phone off and tosses it aside, where it bounces harmlessly on the carpet floor. From there, he works away at his drink, before realizing he won't sleep tonight unless he calms down. That's what has him picking up his Switch again. There might not be a lot to do in this game, but at least he can run around looking at nature to soothe his nerves.
—
At some point, Gordon falls asleep on the couch. The last thing he remembers is setting his character down and waiting for another balloon spawn so he can get all the seasonal DIYs, too tired to do anything else. Then, nothing. Finally, his body comes back online, slowly registering the world around him by feel alone as he hesitates to want to open his eyes. Normally he'd get up and move to bed, or down energy drinks until his heart rate accelerates to an alarming pace so he doesn't have to sleep anymore. Now, though, he feels comfortable right where he is.
Which is really, really odd, concerning, even, because there's a blanket over him and a plush pillow under his head, when he doesn't keep anything like that anywhere near the living room. All he has are the tiny throw pillows with the buttons in the middle, far too uncomfortable to lay his head down upon. Not only that, but his glasses are still on, lacking the kind of discomfort laying down with glasses usually provides.
Gordon's eyes snap open, taking in his environment. First things first, this isn't his house. Everything is wrong, from the wallpaper to the shape and size of the room to the odd arrangement of furniture, all pushed up against the walls and leaving a lot of vacant space in the center. He pushes himself up, finding himself in a bed made of wood and painted a warm brown, the sheets a juicy sort of orange. There's a rug next to the bed with a pair of orange striped slippers that he steps into.
Instantly, he's hit with a feeling of wrongness. There's something really fucking weird about his environment, like it's all too brightly colored or too smooth, or something. It's also familiar in a way he can't place with the panic and exhaustion clouding his brain. Looking around, he spots a mirror propped up on a dresser that matches the bed, and walks over to it.
The sight that greets him makes him want to throw up.
It's him—that is, if he were an overly stylized 3D model. It's like something out of a Harvest Moon game, taller and more semi-realistic than Animal Crossing's spherical models, though the shape of his eyes, beard, and hair closely resemble his Animal Crossing character, now with eyebrows and bags under his eyes. His figure is also a cuter, more flattering version of his real body. The mechanical prosthetic that makes up his right arm has been oversimplified and painted a cute shade of orange, as opposed to the depressing gunmetal gray he's used to seeing. It looks a bit too much like the HEV suit, in a way that has him lightheaded.
His reflection blurs. This can't be happening. It's a dream, obviously, he's played too much Animal Crossing and thought too much troubling shit in close proximity, and now his slumbering mind is tormenting him with something that will ruin his entire fucking day. He'll have to put this game away for awhile, find something else. Harvest Moon? Stardew Valley? Pokémon?
Dreams can be combatted, though, and he won't let this one get anymore uncanny—he can force his eyes to open if he tries hard enough. If he focuses hard enough, if he rejects this reality as nothing more than a dream.
But he can't feel it—his body. His real one, in the real world.
Gordon's blood runs cold and the room starts spinning. Why can't he feel it? Is he not trying hard enough? With trembling hands, he reaches up and pinches his own cheeks, beginning to hyperventilate when it hurts, when he can feel every inch of skin and cold metal gliding over skin.
This can't be happening. Why him? Why is he cursed this way, what is this, a fucking tumblr post? You've been teleported into the last game you played, how fucked are you? He grasps onto his own hair, which feels like an AI was told to generate human hair and it came out almost correct. The contrast is stark enough to him that he starts to panic even harder.
"No, no, no, come on!" he exclaims, shaking his hands at his fucked up reflection. "Gimme a fucking break, it's not even a VR game!"
This is a bad dream, or some sort of vivid hallucination, a really unfunny, cruel prank his brain is playing on him. When he wakes up back in the real world, he'll call his therapist immediately. Take whatever drugs they shove at him to make this shit stop, before calling his mother to apologize, because she was right, clearly.
The only question is, how does he get out of a game with no ending?
Pushing up off the dresser, Gordon begins pacing, before deciding to investigate the room. If this isn't real, there's gotta be something to connect this to reality, right? He can get out of this? Fuck, he has no idea what it's like to see shit that isn't real, and as he runs his hands over the table beside the bed, it feels very real. Maybe a little too soft, like it's been sanded down recently.
Stumbling over to the dresser, he tugs open the top drawer. A menu appears directly in front of his face, not unlike prompts in a VR game, asking him if he wants to change his outfit. When he presses his finger towards the confirm prompt, he's shown a menu with every article of clothing he owns, with a little preview of what he'll look like in each item. Right now, he's wearing nothing but slippers and some drawstring shorts, vaguely imitating what he had on in real life. Assuming this isn't real life. Jury's still out on that one.
Once he's put something together, he looks down to find himself in a completely different outfit. Beige raincoat, plus pants, boots, and hat.
Okay. If it's going to work like that, then… Gordon flexes his fingers, trying out different gestures until the menu for his home storage pops up. Locating his favorite umbrella, he equips it, finding he has to actually operate it like a real one, which is a strange sort of relief. He's not stuck with in-game mechanics, he can close it and swing it around if he wants to, he doesn't have to hold it open above his head.
Of course, he does that anyway considering it's still raining, and pretty hard, at that. As he leaves his house, he's underwhelmed by the feel of the air outside. It's clean, cleaner than he's ever experienced, but the temperature doesn't match up to the intense rainstorm or the harsh winds. It's a little cold, and the wind ruffles his hair and his coat, but that's… it. The wind doesn't feel suffocating against his mouth or throat, it doesn't even blow his bangs into his eyes.
Perturbed, he steps forward, his boots squishing in the mud underfoot. The rain plinks off his umbrella, making a satisfying sound and perfectly shielding his body despite the rain being angled towards the left. Before him, there's a dirt path leading him down a perfectly uniform, gridlike layout, where he passes by several houses, some with the lights on inside. As he does, he spots some of his villagers wandering around, umbrellas in hand.
It's only one he stops and turns that it hits him just how fucking odd this all is. Other than the obvious fact he's stuck in another video game. This video game in particular has a fixed camera, leading players to never know what to backside of a tree or someone's house looks like.
Pausing in the middle of the pathway, he starts looking around. Seeing the island from any angle is surreal and fascinating, and he ends up circling a tree to observe the hidden polygons. For some reason, it's all been meshed and textured, despite the fact it never needs to be seen from any other angle. He runs his hands over it. The bark is smooth like polished wood.
That's when he hears a familiar jingle, turning to find his villager, Bea, watching him with a confused expression, a question mark hanging in the air beside her head, now 3D when he's pretty sure those things are supposed to be flat textures. For some reason, he glances to the tree and back to Bea with an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Ahaha… just, uh, looking for… bugs…?" The villager just continues to stare at him, and, sensing an out, he takes off running. Nailed it. Hopefully that AI wasn't sentient, and won't remember what happened just now.
Speaking of sentient AI… there's a chance some of them exist here, and he'd better find out which ones they are as quickly as possible. It might not be any of his villagers at all, but he can never be too sure. Pulling up the map on his Nook Phone—which rests in his pocket at all times, apparently—he looks through his list of villagers, finding that everything looks the same as ever. There's no eleventh villager with a fucked up name, nor is there a brand new house with no name listed at all. He's stared at this enough that he'd notice if there was.
Okay, that means there's either no whacky AIs at all, or… some of his villagers have gained sentience. As he wanders along his island, he wonders which ones he'd rather it be. Dobie wouldn't be a bad choice, or he'd be the worst choice. The way Gordon sees it, he's either a repeat of Bubby—cranky old man who criticizes him and calls him a bitch—or an abrasive, but kind grandfather figure, which would be nice to have around. It's the whole reason Gordon liked that wolf so much.
As he wanders around pondering this, he figures out how to pull up the radial menu for his tools, all of which are operated like real items, only much easier. For example, the ladder extends and contracts with a button press, so he doesn't have to struggle with the janky parts of his artificial hand. The axe only needs to graze a tree to knock some wood logs loose.
"There's no way this will work," Gordon mutters under his breath, standing before a three-tile wide river with the vaulting pole in hand. Pointing the end in front of him, he takes several deep breaths. "Okay, Gordon. You can do this. Three, two, one…!"
He rushes at the river, planting the pole in the center and clinging to it as it swings him cleanly over to the other side. A sense of vertigo and adrenaline wash over him before he's safely deposited back on the ground.
"Oh… huh. That was… pretty easy, actually," he mumbles. The rush he got feels overdramatic now.
Walking through a field of colorful flowers on the outskirts of his island, Gordon looks around, taking in the sights and the smell of flowers and petrichor. A snail rests on a bush nearby, and he takes his net out, watching his feet to judge distance before catching it and just… holding it in his hand. Now that it's caught, it's very calm, slithering across his palm with a body that feels pleasantly squishy and smooth. Rubbing its head with his thumbs, Gordon watches its little antennae swish happily back and forth.
Putting that away into an invisible pocket—an action he performs without thought—he continues onwards, collecting seashells and rubbing his thumbs over the smooth surface. Every beach he's ever been to had been swept early in the morning by collectors, so he's never seen an actual shell on any of them. He's only picked them up in stores, after they've been processed into jewelry. This feels the same, but as a more satisfying shape to hold in his hand.
As he continues walking along, he encounters some villagers gathered around town hall, chatting amongst themselves. To Gordon, it's nothing but squeaky nonsense… or so he thinks. But as he gets closer, he realizes he can actually understand what they're saying, if he focuses on it enough. It's still in high pitched text-to-speech, but he can make out real words in order to hear their dialogue.
When he gets even closer, text boxes pop up for him to read, hovering in front of his face like a flat cardboard sign very similarly to a VR game. The text is stuff he's seen countless times—the NPCs in this game have pretty limited dialogue. This, at least, reassures him that these two villagers aren't sentient.
Having them turn to look at him as they bring him into the conversation is jarring, though, and makes him feel like he's faced with real people anyway. Yet, reflexively, he responds to them as if they're real. But they just stare at him when he speaks, and he realizes he needs to press one of the dialogue options he's given or they won't react. Further proof they aren't sentient, even if it's kinda annoying and uncanny. He tries to tell himself that they're like robots—and not the "Xbox on" kind, but the older ones with zero voice recognition. That makes it a little less eerie.
As Gordon continues his journey through town, he does everything he can think of: visits every shop, section of the museum, and villager—none of them appear self-aware—spends an hour running and vaulting to every beach to go fishing, catches bugs, smells the flowers, stomps in a rain puddle. At one point he sets his umbrella down and just lets the rain wash over his skin. It's not very cold, instead feeling akin to standing under a cool showerhead in the summer.
Looking down, Gordon finds himself not far from the airport, and he wanders in to escape the rain. Barely five seconds later and he's completely dry, without even a puddle left behind.
Though he'd stopped by to escape the rain and complete his tour, it suddenly hits him that he can use this place to get some answers. It's easy to get lost in the splendor of nature when it's so idealized in a video game, he nearly forgot about his whole… problem.
Walking right up to the counter gets Orville's attention. After some chatter he has to read from a box to understand, he's greeted with some menus, in which the option I wanna visit someone crops up. This gives Gordon pause. Are there other islands out there with players on them? Or is that option only there because it's a part of the game? Morbidly curious, he selects that one, and…
"Here's a list of all the islands available," Orville's text box reads, before a menu appears in Gordon's vision. Reading through the list makes him lightheaded, anticipatory dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. There's six in total, with nothing listed except the island name. Each one is color coded—cyan, green, yellow, orange, dark green, and blue.
Despite the alarm going off in his head telling him to back out immediately, he finds himself saying, "Starburst Island?" He's given a choice to back out, and he considers it—it would be really easy to walk away, maybe put jail bars in front of the docks so no unwanted visitors can show up to ruin his life. But this is his best bet to figure out what the hell's going on, and he trusts no one more in this situation. Taking a deep breath, he says, "Yeah, fuck it. I'm ready."
Stepping around the corner, he walks through a dark hallway before suddenly appearing, standing up, in the back seat of a dodo plane. Taking a seat, he finds Wilbur sitting at the helm. He's told to fasten his seatbelt and all those other safety things before they take off, though this all turns out to be flavor text in the grand scheme of things. Turning, Gordon watches his island get farther away, and by the time he turns back around, there's already another island in sight.